


Adventures in Time Travel

by mamasita13



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, BAMF Stiles, Brunski - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Child Abuse, Dr. Valek, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Kidnapped Stiles, M/M, Mage Stiles Stilinski, Mental Instability, Mentions of Allison Argent - Freeform, Mentions of Scott McCall - Freeform, Multi, Non-Canonical Character Death, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Tattooing, Scott is a Bad Friend, Slow Build, Torture, Witch Claudia Stilinksi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:20:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6939367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamasita13/pseuds/mamasita13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles is kidnapped and then throws himself back in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I couldn't get out of my head. No one BETAd this so all mistakes are my own. If I see any typos I'll come back to change them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stiles is kidnapped and then throws himself back in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed some typos and decided to fix them. Nothing's changed, not really.

Stiles Stilinski is rambling, he doesn't even know what he's rambling, but that's not important. The pain he's supposed to be feeling right now is what's more important. Stiles knows that once you don't feel the pain, then you're in shock and it's about that time that the Grim Reaper is knocking at your door.

Stiles might have minutes or hours if he can get help, like right the fuck now. No help. Well shit. Those minutes turn to seconds.

“Not now son! I'm making toast!” The TV is awfully loud, Stiles thinks. How is it he is even aware that there's a TV blaring Zim? Oh, Stiles thinks, this is it. Great! My exit strategy is concentrating on what's around me? Maybe I’m already dead. Come on Stiles, think! You’re either in shock or you’ve passed out and are in your own mind construct.

Somehow he knows he’s passed out and he’s retreated to his mind. Watching Invader Zim. Of all things to watch. He chooses Zim. Well, it was a great show. It has the future fic Tumblr posts to prove it.

Stiles gets comfortable because it's what you do when you find yourself in your mind watching Zim. He's in his dad’s armchair because the sheriff isn’t home and it’s the best place to watch TV. He’s sixteen and yeah in his pink bunny footie pajamas with the bunny feet and the bunny tail and the bunny hoodie with the bunny ears. They are exactly like the ones in a “Christmas Story“.

Stiles had seen the movie and had to have them. His mother had made them and she even made him some other animals too. His favorite though were the wolf ones that were supposed to be a dog. A Husky to be exact but turned out to be a wolf instead. He'd asked for white and she complied. He called it werewolf pajamas. Yeah, when he was seven he wasn’t that creative yet.

They were great. All of them were ridiculous for a seven-year-old, but he didn’t care what people thought. They would never get to see the real him anyway. They would never get him even if they did see the real him. Actually, the only other person besides his mother who got kinda close to seeing the real him was Peter Hale.

Stiles doesn’t let anyone see the real him and when Miłosław might come out for a peak surprises him a little. Miłosław only ever made an appearance when Peter was there. Almost as if his "real self" saw something in the zombie creeper wolf no one else saw. Aside from his mother, Peter is the only one to accept those slips of the real him. He thinks that’s probably why he might have developed a bit of a crush on Peter.

Huh. Interesting and Stiles will think on that further. Later. For now, Zim.

Stiles is eating sugar pops with goat's milk. He won’t drink cow’s milk. He refuses, it’s barbaric the way they treat cows. It just bothers him that cows are killed for meat when they outlive their usefulness. It…

Huh. Interesting. Now, this topic he’d like to think on further now. He'd forget that somehow. He'd been so adamant about it. How could he have forgotten? It’ll come to him eventually.

Oh well, back to Zim.

Woah, fuck Zim!

He could see his mom! Stiles immediately deflates, because Stiles is sixteen. Footie pajamas or not, he can’t see her. She doesn't exist because she's dead. Yeah, fuck you, too universe. Yeah, OK, it is his mind construct, but he doesn’t want to go there. He might never leave. And that would be no bueno.

Stiles shakes himself all over, making his hoodie come off his head. He needs a distraction. He thinks the pain he feels in his heart is actually the pain his body is taking right now. It would make sense and that’s probably what’s happening. They are hurting him or are done hurting him and the pain in his heart is just being transferred from the body part that’s feeling the actual pain.

Yeah, that makes sense to him. Satisfied with this logic, he tips the bowl of sugary milk and slurps it. He wipes off his milk mustache with his arm and sighs happily. Damn, that he can be happy in his mind construct while experiencing torture is just beyond him.

He gets up from the chair with his now empty bowl and takes it to the kitchen. He promptly forgets about his mom. But not really. He chooses to get distracted. It hurts to think about it. Six years she's been dead and it still hurts like it's the first time he heard it.

Instead, he rinses the bowl and puts it in the dishwasher. He sets about putting other things in there so he can start it. It's full now so he activates it and goes to the laundry. He takes off the pajamas and stuffed them in with a new load and folds the things in the dryer. He tries to think what else he can do to get distracted. Dinner? Homework? Watch Porn? So many choices.

He puts the folded clothes in a basket and takes them to his dad's bedroom. He puts away the sheriff's clothes. He clears out the dust with his magic because he’s in his mind and hello… He can use his magic here at the blink of a thought. He thinks it and it just happens.

He heads to the bathroom and cleans it too. His magic use didn't even make him tired, because he’s in his mind and this isn’t real. He's in his room wishing for a sandwich when one appears on his desk.   
He eats it without thinking. He does everything else with his magic and all the while thinking he can do it because he’s in his mind construct. He gets dressed in his wolf pajamas and looks out the window. He expects to see the tree that’s been there his entire life, but instead, it’s a grimy warehouse wall.

Oh yeah, he’s being tortured. He tries to remember how long he’s been there, but can only recall ever being in the dentist chair. He turns away from the window and back to his bedroom. His laptop is on his desk so he turns it on to maybe surf some porn. The home page is a live video stream of him in the dentist chair. He’s definitely passed out and alone. At least they’ll let him rest for now. He turns away from the screen, no longer wanting to get off on porn. Somehow it just seems wrong.

Stiles goes to the kitchen phone because he suddenly wants to talk to his dad. Besides, he can distract himself from worrying about the sheriff. He can pretend that if he is going to be only a few minutes late for dinner then Stiles can start it now. If he's going to be later then he can just use his magic to make something.

He picks up the phone and calls the station. Tara picks up the phone as usual and when he asks how she's doing, he gets a gasp of surprise and then silence. There’s a clatter of the phone falling on the desk.

“OK, you dropped the phone. Great. I guess I’ll just wait then since I’m assuming you went to get my dad.” Stiles knows he's whining but he can't help it. He’s really tired all of a sudden and he just wants to talk to his dad.

“Stiles?” He hears the sheriff say frantically over the line. It crackles in Stiles' ear, but the Sheriff is loud and clear when he asks desperately, “Stiles, son, please still be there.”

“Yeah, dad, I’m here. Is Tara OK? She was acting kinda weird.” Stiles asks the sheriff, wondering why he sounds so desperate. Stiles tends to forget his situation sometimes.

“Yeah, yeah, Tara is fine. Son, where are you?” The sheriff asks.

“What are you talking about, dad? I’m home. I’ve been home all day. Did you forget you grounded me, remember? I was watching Zim in my pink bunny PJs. I did the dishes, the laundry, dusted, cleaned the house. I’m tired and I wanted to know when you’d be home for dinner.”

Stiles realizes he’s babbling, but he can’t help it. He just thanks his mind for supplying his dad’s reassuring voice. He closes his eyes and hears the line crackle again. He thinks he would call the phone company if this were real life. Because this phone line really sucks.

“Stiles, listen to me son. You’re not home. You have been kidnapped seven days ago. You’ve got to see if you can tell me where you are. You said you were watching Zim? Can you change the channel to the CCTV? Can you do that, Stiles?” the sheriff asks. He’s using his ‘calm down, don’t panic, I’m here to help you, you still got me’ voice.

Stiles immediately calms down despite what the sheriff is saying. It’s his default to listen to that voice. His father has been training him since he was five. He’s taken Stiles to the range for gun safety, then qualifying with the gun and rifle. He’s gotten trained with the recruits in close combat and physical fitness. He’s even let Stiles watch interrogations. The only reason Stiles sucks at lacrosse is because he doesn’t want to leave Scott alone on the bench.

And look how that turned out for him because Scott has left him on the bench with Greenberg of all people. That’s moot point now because he’s been kidnapped and holy shit he’s been in the fucking dentist chair for seven days. He feels a tear slip out of his eye.

And then to top it all off his one chance to be in the game and Gerard Argent chooses that time to kidnap him. Then beats the shit out of Stiles in front of Erica and Boyd. Stiles wishes that Deaton had told him about his magic before then. He could have saved them and now they wouldn’t be dead. He doesn’t know what he’d have done to the old man, but it would have been a lot better than leaving with his proverbial tail between his legs.

Stiles can’t blame it all on Deaton. He shares some of the blame because he really should have researched the shit out of what the fuck is a Spark and how to access the magic within him. Now it’s just a little too late for what-ifs and shoulda, woulda, coulda's. Scott is a True Alpha and the Alpha pack is trying to recruit him. They wanted Scott the whole time, but killed Eria then made Derek kill Boyd. Assholes. And now they’ve got Stiles in a dentist chair.

Stiles goes to the back door and opens it. The scene he finds is him being strapped to an electrical device. The leads are being put on his temples, his heart, stomach, legs and arms. It’s odd to look at the scene as if he’s watching a movie. He doesn’t even feel anything right now.

“Dad, their strapping electrical leads to my body. I’m in some kind of warehouse and there’s a dentist chair. Dad, I’m in it. Oh man, I… I look like shit! They beat the crap out of me. My lips are swollen and split. My eyes, holy shit, fuckers, punched me in the face so much they’re almost swollen shut.” Stiles is speaking in a clinical but angry tone of voice. He smells the piss in the room as well as the fear. He didn’t think fear even had a smell, but it’s unmistakable even to his human nose.

“Son, I know you’re hurt and you’re tired, but I need you to go to the TV. I need you to put it on the CCTV Channel. The one that’s outside of the buildings where they’re holding you. I need you to tell me where exactly this warehouse is located. Can you do that for me, Stiles?” The sheriff asks. Stiles complies and goes to the TV. He changes it to the CCTV. There are four video screens and all of them are different angles of the warehouse. He knows these warehouses. He’s in the abandoned brewery on the south side of town.

“Dad, I’m at the abandoned brewery on the south side of town. I know this going to sound crazy, but werewolves exist. Please get a hold of Peter Hale. He’s a werewolf. Give him a gun, though, give him a crash course on how to use it. Then tell him… Tell him to hurry, dad, I think they mean to electrocute me. And could we not talk about the werewolf thing, just now, please? It wasn’t my secret to tell. You can yell at me when he finds me. Because I need help like yesterday. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to stay in my mind construct. I’m freaking out and the fucking machine is getting activated to be used on me soon.”

“Yeah, about that. I’d especially like to hear how my sixteen-year-old son is involved with a thirty-year-old man. Then we’ll definitely have to discuss why there’s a homicidal maniac who’s supposed to be dead, mind you, here chomping at the bit since he realized you were taken.” His dad deadpans. Stiles can hear the man is about to go into a more detailed and sarcastic comment because the sheriff takes a breath. Stiles would laugh at the image of what he just said provokes if he weren’t strapped to a dentist chair about to get electrocuted. Peter Hale being harnessed. As if. He’d kill anyone who tried.

Static and a commotion are on the line as the sheriff and someone fight for the phone.

“Stiles!” He hears Peter’s voice on the other end of the line. It actually makes his knees weak and he sits on the floor of the porch.

“Peter!” He whimpers into the phone clutching it to his ear. “Peter, I’m so tired, Peter.” stiles doesn’t even know when he became dependant on the man. He’ll have time to think about it while he waits for him. Stiles is and always has been self-sufficient since his mom pass.

Yeah, his dad said he still had him, but actions speak louder than words. The man still went through his mourning period. Drinking too much and throwing himself at his job. That meant Stiles had to fend for himself. He became the parent in the relationship. He even had to put his dad in the recovery position many times as well as clean up after him.

It was difficult and the first time his dad acknowledged him was panic inducing. Stiles had barely managed to hold off until his father left for work. He had hoped that one look had meant his dad was with him again. After work a week later, they had an actual conversation that left Stiles an emotional trainwreck. By the time he was sixteen, Stiles had taken his comfort from his male teachers or other old male authority figures.

So to Stiles, it was no surprise that he’d been at first fascinated with Peter Hale and then developed a crush on him after the garage incident. Stiles still remembers how the man had offered him the bite. He sometimes wishes he had said yes or yes adjacent. Especially now that he knew Peter had been proposing to him.

“I know, pup, I’m coming.” Peter yells angrily. And fuck if Stiles isn’t glad to hear his voice. It’s all he can do to not piss himself. He looks at his actual self in the dentist chair. They’re almost done with the leads. He sighs in relief because he knows Peter will save him.

“Peter, bring a gun. Kill these fuckers and then bring them back to life and kill them again. Just stay for the five minutes it takes for you to use a gun properly! Promise me! There are three of the fuckers that I can see, but there might be more.” Stiles says desperately into the phone.

“Promise! I’ll kill these fuckers, just hold on, OK? You better not die before I get there because the first time I went loco will look like candy land compared to what’ll happen if you die before I get there. Got it pup?” Big Bad growls into the phone. Stiles smiles in relief at Peter’s wolf. Big Bad’s coming with a vengeance so Stiles counted that as a win.

Stiles had started calling Peter’s wolf Big Bad after Peter insisted on calling Stiles ‘Red’. He gets it that Peter thinks of Stiles as an innocent to corrupt. It’s funny that the both of them have accepted the nicknames.

“K, Big Bad,” Stiles says tiredly. “I’ll do my best. But you better get your ass over here pronto!” Stiles yells more seriously. “The warehouse I’m in smells like my fear and piss. I guarantee you’ll smell me before you see me. OK Big Bad, They’re going to electrocute me now. Tell my dad I love him and I’m sorry for… ah… everything!” Stiles is cut off as a piercing pain shoots through the leads.

He’s suddenly thrown back in the dentist chair. The acrid smell of fear and urine isn’t as bad as the smell of blood. All his body fluids together mixed with the smell of burning flesh and hair is almost overwhelming as the electricity moves through his body. He’s feeling the medical cuffs on his wrists and ankles. The dentist chair underneath him, slippery and wet with his sweat, the jeans sticking to his crotch making him uncomfortable. Stiles doesn’t know if he wants to laugh hysterically or cry.

They’ve shoved something in his mouth. It’s got a taste of rubber and Stiles think it’s the mouthpiece they use in shock therapy. He’s breathing hard and he’s trying desperately to get back to his mind construct. To his bunny footie pajamas and Zim. He wants to hear Big Bad’s voice again. He wants his dad. Most of all he doesn’t want to feel the wetness of his pants and the sweat trickling down his face or the tears coming down his eyes.

A woman comes into his personal space and he realizes that he’s got a medical strap on his forehead. It suddenly itches really bad and he writhes back and forth trying to scratch the itch.

“Hello Christopher, my name is Nero.” She says nonchalantly, just like Eric Bana said it in the movie. As if she’s telling him the weather or the time. Why she chose that line from Star Trek is beyond him. He thinks it might have something to do with the crazy glint in her eyes. For all, he knows she could just be doing it to be funny. It’s lost something in translation because it’s not even close to funny.

She’d be beautiful, in a hot porn star school teacher kinda way, with her black hair tied in a bun and hot librarian glasses pushed down to the end of her nose, looking down at Stiles. That is if she wasn’t so fucking crazy and hadn’t decided to kidnap him.

“Do you see this device, Christopher?” She asks him. And she’s moving back and forth looking at Stiles and then at what’s in her hand. Stiles’ eyes barely crack open, but he thinks he knows what she’s holding.

It’s a black clicker, like a garage remote with what looks like a dial on the side. It’s set to one. Stiles guesses that it might go to twenty. “It is a remote for my new toy!” She tells him like Bob Barker on “The Price Is Right”; clicks the turn on the knob and presses the button. And that’s two.

Stiles can’t help but clench his teeth around the mouthpiece. His swollen eyes clench close involuntarily as the electricity makes it’s way into his entire body. He arches his back against the pain that he’s never before experience.

Stiles desperately tries to go back into his mind construct where he’ll know he’ll be safe. Just when he doesn’t think he can stand the pain anymore Stiles gathers all his magic around him like a shield as he’s letting out a silent scream around the mouthpiece. Stiles promptly passed out.


	2. Chapter 2: When I was Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stiles arrives in the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made some changes to the wording and some typos I found. Again, nothing has changed.  
> This is a WIP and has not been BETAd by anyone so all mistakes are my own. I'll make any necessary changes as I see mistakes and continuity.

Stiles gasps because he no longer feels the pain; he’s in his bed fighting with polka dot sheets. They’ve twisted themselves around his too small ankles and wrists. He settles back on the bed with a thump. The sheets are wet. He’s sweating and feels like his bladder is about to burst. He looks down at himself. At least he didn't piss the bed this time. His body is wrong, it’s not sixteen. It’s seven years old.

BUT Yes! By fuck, he’s made it. Stiles tries to pump his fist in victory, fails miserably due to tangled sheets. He’s wearing his werewolf pajamas this time. The bed is wrong is in the wrong position. So is his body for that matter. Yup, it’s his day bed from when he was seven. It’s close to the window instead of being across from it. He sees that there’s no desk for his computer and no computer. The posters are all wrong, too. They’re of wolves in the wild. His mind has brought him to his seven-year-old bedroom and his seven-year-old self. This is a new development. Well, it could be worse. He could be stuck in the dentist chair instead.

Fuck! Why did his mind throw him back to when he was seven? Ugh, that he’s actually seven instead of sixteen means his mind brought him back to right when his mom was getting sick. He calls his spark to him and makes a light bubble. It bobs around him happily. Rubbing at his face.  
Stiles stares at the wolves on his walls. So at seven he was into wolves, huh. Because of course, he was. Stiles mother always told him they were his power animal. How could he forget that too? They used to be so important to him. It’s weird that he doesn’t remember any of these things when he’s thrown back to his body. Now he wonders if it’s his mind or maybe his magic was trying to protect him.

Stiles runs a hand over his face tiredly as he tries to calm himself. His heart is always at a jackrabbits pace, but he tries to slow it to a calm jackrabbit instead of the tortured one it was a few days ago. Fuck! Seven days! He doesn’t even know what day it was. It feels as if he’s always been in that dentist chair. Oh well, no point in looking at the date now. He won’t be able to read it.

Stiles’ got a good view of the full moon behind a single errant cloud. There’s too much air pollution to see the stars and the ones over his bed only have Lupus so far. Ha! Wolf constellation, because of course.

Stiles must have passed out from all the pain. He takes the sheets off his wrists and ankles to get up and use the bathroom.

Stiles sits up on the side of the bed, puts on his wolf feet. Then pulls his werewolf hoodie over his head. Even though it’s soaked in his sweat, he feels better already. At least he’s safe now.

Peter will come for him soon. If he can stay in his mind the whole time, then he won’t feel more pain. That would be ideal. Divine, even. He’s sure the witch has a way to wake him, but he hopes he won’t wake until Peter comes for him.

And wow, the stuff Big Bad said to him. That was new. And cool. Because that was the wolf’s voice. Big Bad talking to him through a mouth full of teeth. It’s growlier somehow. Wow, so Big Bad likes him. There’s a weird sense of elation at the thought. So yeah, Bridget Jones, a bit of crush, indeed.

Stiles is grinning like a loon and feeling entirely too pleased with himself. He’s not sure why winning the wolf over to his side would be necessary. Peter has never been one to be controlled by anyone, let alone his wolf. Even when he was a psycho there was a method to his madness. Peter never actually killed anyone who didn’t deserve it.

And yeah, there is Laura, but admittedly Stiles thinks Laura was a terrible Alpha. Granted he doesn’t think Laura deserved to die, and if she hadn’t been found by the hunters and ripped in half, Stiles thinks she would have awakened as an omega. She caused her own havoc. Maybe. He’s actually surprised that Derek didn’t lose his shit as an Omega. With Laura dead, no pack bond tying him to Peter, they really dodged a bullet there. Stiles thinks it’s because Derek still felt the ghost of a bond to Peter.

Stiles shakes himself. He gets up because he really needs a piss and a drink of water. He hears the bed in his father’s bedroom creak and thinks the sheriff must be there. It’s funny that his mind supplied the sheriff. He must be more scared than the thought. His mind has never supplied the sheriff as comfort in the past. It’s always the same old thing. Footie pajamas, mindless TV and sugary cereal. Never the sheriff, never his mom. Nope, just things that will fool him into thinking he’s safe.

Except this time he’s seven, in his white werewolf pajamas, staring at his wolf posters. It should be weird, but it just feels right.

Stiles almost goes in the room to look in on his dad, but he decides he doesn’t want to push it.

He closes the door to the bathroom. He knows it’s stupid, but closing the door makes him feel better. He drinks two glasses of water while he takes a piss. It feels good.

Ewe, but the smell is the worst. The urine is really pungent and really yellow. Stiles is dehydrated. He must not have been given any food or water. Those bastards. How dare they kidnap him and then not feed him for seven whole days. Assholes.

It feels really good despite his worry that he’s dehydrated. Stiles decides to drink two more glasses of water just to feel how good it goes down his throat. He takes another piss before he washes his hands with the soap his mother used to buy. It’s some cucumber smelling soap the witch down the road from them makes to supplement her income as the librarian. She makes all kinds of new age, herbal, organic soaps, and creams that his mother really loves.

Damn, Stiles’ thinking about her in the present tense and that does not bode well for him. He really misses his mother. He forgets a lot of the little things about her. Like the homemade cucumber soap and the handmade pajamas, she made him. If he could do it all over again, he knows he’d try to memorize everything about her.

Stiles gives a wistful sigh as he looks at himself in the mirror. He has to tiptoe because he’s short and skinny with knobbly knees and elbows. Why his mind decided sixteen was just too old and now he’s seven, he’ll never guess. This isn’t comforting. It’s the worst. Ugh, another stupid Star Trek movie reference. Stupid mind and the stupid mindset of when he was seven.

He dries his hands before he shuts off the light. His spark has been happily bouncing all around the bathroom like it’s investigating. Stiles closes his eyes to adjust to the dark despite his spark and opens the door.

His eyes open to find his mother standing there. Stiles spark is ecstatic and goes right to her face, almost like it’s kissing her. She bobs her head and pushes it away from her. It stays in her palm glowing lightly.

Her scent hits Stiles full force and he has to take a step back or be overwhelmed by it. He closes his eyes again, keeping them shut in case his mind decides manifesting his mom in his mind construct was a fluke. So this might be the comfort he was seeking.

“Miłosław? Did you have another bad dream? You’ve had one every night this week, love.” She asks reaching for him and pulling him into a hug. Ugh, it feels really good to get a hug from his mom. She gave the best smelling hugs and he’d forgotten how good it felt to just melt in her arms.

Stiles can’t really take this. She’s too real. Tears pop out of his eyes unbidden. It hurts so much that she’s there right now and all he wants to do is take comfort in her. He shouldn’t because she’s dead and waking from this will kill him.

Actually, he thinks that if he takes this, that he won’t want to wake. But that’s not an option. He’s got his dad, Scott, and now Big Bad waiting for him. He can’t take comfort in this.

“Mom, don’t,” Stiles says desperately through his tears wiping his face on her rob. She looks angry as he pulls away from her. “Don’t look at me like that. Please. You’re not real. You’re dead, mom. What are you even doing here? Why are you here? To keep me here? So I won’t want to go back there? You can’t do that, OK? Don’t you want me to be happy? I can’t stay here with you. You’re not real.” Stiles says flailing his arms and with a halfhearted finality he doesn’t really feel.

“Awe shit, mom. Don’t cry. Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, mom. I’m really sorry.” He says as he tries to get out of her embrace. Stiles is desperate to leave or risk staying in his mind forever. While it’s a good construct, it can’t replace the real thing. She even smells the same. Ponds face cream and downy fabric softener with a hint of Ben Gay for her shoulder and back. It’s so inherently her that Stiles almost stays.

“Miłosław!” She says demanding, through angry tears of her own. for him to obey, “You are not going anywhere. You will stay your ass right here. Right! This! Motherfucking second! Or so fucking help me, I will tell your father everything!” She yells and really Stiles had forgotten how feisty his mom was. And stubborn. “About. Everything.” She says with a finality of her own. “Where the fuck do you think are you going now anyway? It’s the middle of the fucking night.” She yells and is really angry now. “I’m not dead, Miłosław. You just had another bad dream. I’m right here, love. Right here. Don’t you fucking test me!”

Stiles is still valiantly fighting his way from her arms, but it’s no use. She’s strong. Stronger than he remembers.

And shit, how could he have forgotten this? He’d wake up from a nightmare and they would argue with each other. He’d never liked seeking comfort in his mother even when she was alive. It cut them both to the deep, but it was now a ritual that comforts them both.   
Except it is the middle of the night and she is serious about calling his father. She might tell him about the magic lessons, but he’s almost sure she won’t mention the constant swearing they do around each other.

Claudia Stilinski always spoke with expletives. Having a son didn’t mean she had mind her words around that son. She actually expected him to use those words around her. John, though, had other ideas. He did mind and he didn’t want Stiles to curse. So Claudia and Stiles only used expletives around each other.

“Miłosław I’m fucking serious now. Calm down. If you insist on going out, I’m going with you. If you just wait a minute, let me change, let’s put on our shoes. Or I swear I will call your father.”

She threatens through her frustrated tears. Stiles looks at her. He’s angry now, too. He wants to tell her not to call him Miłosław. That his friend and teachers are too stupid to pronounce his name so they call him Stiles. He hates it, but he’s just gotten used to it.

“Fine! I want to go to the beach, but there be werewolves!” He says in warning. He crosses his arms as he waits for her. She huffs and rolls her eyes.

“By the way, the movie is called: There Be Dragons.” She says as she begins to tell him about the movie. It’s enough to derail his whole line of thinking. Stiles had forgotten this too. He takes after his mother when it comes to knowing useless shit no one else knows or cares about.

“What? Stop talking." Stiles says face palming and putting up his hand "No, mom, not talking about the movie. It’s a full moon out tonight, ergo there be werewolves.” Stiles says shrugging his shoulder and grinning like a loon. She rolls her eyes, smiles indulgently, muttering about no he didn't just use ergo in a sentence; snaps her fingers.

“Tada!” She says and she’s wearing the Jumanji explorer outfit complete with the ridiculous gun over her shoulder. Stiles’ spark is back to his shoulder and Stiles looks at it exasperated with her.

“Mom!” He sniffs at the gun. “Is that wolfsbane I smell?” he asks her, flailing his arms. “For fucks sake mom! We’re not going out there to kill any of the Hales. Werewolves or not they’re people just like us, they just happen to be able to magically change into wolves. They’re just different magical people than us.” Stiles huffs. Claudia rolls her eyes and smiles fondly at him. She pats his head proudly at him. Stiles is glad that she feels the same way and is probably using the same words she’s used.

He walks to his parent's bedroom because he’s going to wear his werewolf slippers and he wants to wait for her to change into something else.

“Mom?” He asks, getting on her side of the bed and bouncing from one side of his butt to the other, then bouncing his legs up and down, as she stands in front of her full-length mirror. The soft light from the lamp makes her look as if she’s glowing. “What did you mean another bad dream? Did you mean a nightmare?” He asks her, trying to chase his earlier thought niggling at the back of his mind.

“Hmm?” She makes a distracted noise. Switching outfits faster than he can blink. She’s even more powerful than him, but he knows that with more practice that he’ll be on her level by the time he’s her age.

“You said earlier that I had another bad dream, but did you mean nightmare? How many have I had?” He asks curiously, throwing himself on the bed to look at the ceiling. Something is trying to catch in the back of his mind and he’s trying to bring it forward. She’s distracting him! Why, though?

He closes his eyes and gathers his magic. He can feel his spark growing. It’s been bouncing all around his parent's bedroom seeming to be touching everything. Stiles’ spark comes close to his cheek where he can feel the heat of it. Then changes his soft wolf slippers into hard hiker boot like wolf-soled paws. They aren’t real wolf feet, but they’ll do the job of real hiker boots.

He snaps his eyes open and she’s wearing regular jeans and a long sleeve shirt. She’s pulling on a white hoodie and she’s really going out with him.

“Is this different from the other nights?” He asks her because he somehow knows it is different. His mother sighs and looks at him.

“You’ve been having nightmares all week and they’re all the same. The worst part about them is how you’re so sure I’m dead.” She says shrugging her shoulders and motioning him with her hand to come on. She holds out her hand expecting him to take it. So he does because this is his mother and she’s alive and they’re going to walk to the beach and see all the Hales. Big Bad will be there and he’ll be happy. “This feels different because it is. The other nights I managed to distract you enough to put you back to bed.” She says as she leads him out of the bedroom and into the hall.

Stiles frowns because he’s almost forgotten the dream. But he trusts his mother so he closes his eyes and walks with her downstairs. His spark following along happily. She calls his father to tell him they’re going to the beach. It is normal for Stiles to wake like this and need to go for a walk.

What does that say about him, them really, that they are used to this kind of behavior from him? They love him, obviously. Tears threaten to fall as he slowly remembers this too. The feeling of being loved by both his parents. That they were whole. A triad of love and safety. Stiles sighs at the loss he’ll feel after he wakes up in that damned dentist chair.

They go out the back door to the yard and out past the fence to make their way through the Hale preserve.   
His mom is there, so it stands to reason that so is Peter with his whole family. Peter’s entire family will be there. The Hales will be intact and Peter will be whole. Stiles can’t help but get excited. They’ll all be at the beach with Talia and Derek, Cora and Laura and all the Hales. Yeah, that’s where he’ll go because it’ll be good to see Peter from before and maybe he won’t be an asshole. Stiles highly doubts it because that part of Peter is so inherently Peter that Stiles can’t imagine him any other way.

The moon casts a nice light, but they’re going to need more light to see if he doesn’t want to kill himself. His mom will be fine. She’s got an easy grace about her that Stiles envies. Stiles takes a second to wonder at his mind's ability to manifest smells now. The house smells lived in and clean, like it used to when he was seven.

Maybe his magic is getting stronger. Well, it stands to reason since he’s there and he’s seven now instead of sixteen. And. He can smell things. His mom is there too and she feels real and smells real. The air is even chilly, but it’s not too cold. Besides he’s wearing the footie pajamas so he’ll be plenty warm. It’s probably early spring by the look of the night wolfsbane in his yard.

Huh, he forgot that too. His mother used to grow it and let it bloom wild in and around their property. She said it was to make her feel better. That it meant they were being protected. Now he wonders if she meant that they were protected by the Hale pack. Wolfsbane grows wild when there are werewolves in the area.

Stiles stops to think about this. His mother patiently waits for him. He turns around and makes his spark, which has been bouncing around him like a sentient being, into his own private street lamp. It’s enough for them to see now and he thinks he wants to run, but decides against it since his mom is there.

“What day is it?” He asks thinking there’s something he’s forgotten.

“Friday. You started having nightmares about a week ago. You wake up around the same time every night.” She supplies. She’s always been forthcoming with her information. He stops because he remembers the dream. He remembers Big Bad asking him not to die, his dad wanting to know his location. Most of all he remembers the pain.

“How many nights exactly, Mom? And the time, the exact time. It’s important.” He asks pulling her to face him. The glow of his spark casts her in a beatific glow. She’s stunning and so young that Stiles feels a twinge of guilt for thinking she was dead.

“Today is the seventh night and it’s three in the morning. It started at eight at night the first time and about an hour later each night. Tonight’s the full moon. It’s the first night of the full moon, actually. It’s also the first night that there are not clouds.” She says not realizing how important her words are. No clouds except for that one he’d seen earlier. This is also different because it’s the first time they go outside.

“Did you distract me and put me back to bed the other nights?” He asks tentatively. She shakes her head yes.

“School nights, except no school since it’s spring break. I just needed you to have a routine even though there was no school. I just like routine.”

“What’s different tonight?”

“I didn’t feel like it. Besides it’s Friday and going to the beach right now while no one is there sounds great. The Hales probably won’t be there and if they are, I’m sure they really won’t mind.” She says with a wicked grin on her face. It reminds him so much of Peter that he gasps.

Then everything comes back to him in one horrible moment. He remembers that he was kidnapped seven nights ago. He knows this is real somehow and his mom was the best distraction. He thinks she must have distracted him enough those other times and so everything happened the way it was supposed to happen. He’s been having the worst seven “groundhog day” years of his life. Except nothing changed. And. Stiles doesn’t remember any of it except for being in that damned fucking dentist chair.

He really wishes he had read that ‘Saving JFK’ novel Stephen King just wrote. It would have been great research for time travel.

“Mom? What if you could go back in time and prevent world war two?” He asks tentatively.

“Then I wouldn’t need to go back in time to prevent world war two, now would I? It’s a bootstrap paradox. I need bootstraps so I go back in time to get bootstraps. Or something. I really don’t know. But it sounded good for a second, huh?” She says with a silly grin on her face. Stiles rolls his eyes, but he really missed her. “Think on this, though. What if I went back in time to stop world war one and caused world war two?” She asks lifting one eyebrow at him.

Stiles gives a frustrated huff. He turns away from her and instead of heading to the beach, he heads to the Nemeton. He doesn’t plan on going forward in time. It would cause a paradox; it should have caused a paradox. Wouldn’t it? Shouldn’t it? Somehow it didn’t. He knows why. It’s because he’s somehow invaded his seven-year-old self. He’s here with all his sixteen-year-old self's memories in his seven-year-old self's body. He’s BAMF and can change things.

He’ll have to research it later. Stephen Hawking must have written books about it. But tonight he’s going to do what he can to prevent the decimation of a great family. The Hales need to be here to keep Beacon Hills stable.

His mom realizes the beach is no longer their destination but doesn’t say anything. They walk in companionable silence for a bit before Stiles begins to tell his mother everything he remembers. He’s babbling and going from one thing to another, but his mother understands him. He doesn’t even care if she doesn’t believe him. He believes it and eventually they get to the Nemeton within half an hour.

Stiles can feel the Nemeton. It’s reacting to his presence.

“Mom, you have rowan ash?” He asks her hopefully. “And I need the baseball bat.” He says as he approaches the Nemeton.

“Miłosław, why do you need those things and of course I have them. What are you going to do here?” She asks curiously.

Stiles realizes that his mother didn’t really believe him. She was just indulging him. He’s fine with this.

“I’m gonna take over the world, ma!” He says laughing evilly. She giggles and pushes him, then rolls her eyes fondly as she hands him the bag of mountain ash. She calls it rowan ash because it comes from the rowan tree. That Stiles remembers and he honors her by calling it what she calls it. Stiles doesn’t care what he calls mountain ash. It will always be his bitch and do as he commands.

He grabs a handful and throws it in the air. It falls into a perfect circle around them and the Nemeton. His mother approaches the line and tries to walk over it, but finds that she can’t.

His mother looks at him grinning proudly at him. “You’ve been practicing!” She says happily.

“Yeah mom, I’ve been practicing.” He knows the barrier will hold until he breaks it. Stiles turns to the Nemeton and touches it. The stump glows slightly at his touch. It almost looks like a night light is on in the root cellar. Stiles knows it’s impossible because the root cellar is farther down into the ground.

Stiles feels the lay lines of the Nemeton and reaches for Kate’s presence. She still hasn’t come to Beacon Hills yet. She feels oddly close and yet far away. Wherever she’s at now, it’s morning because she’s drinking coffee and eating breakfast.

“Who’s that, Miłosław?” His mother asks him. He’s not startled that his mother sees Kate. When he opens his eyes, Kate Argent is there and it’s like he’s watching her from a video feed.

“This is Katherine Argent. Serial killer, sadist and pedophile.” Stiles answers matter-of-factly. “I have to at least try, mom. This might cause world war two, but the amount of damage she inflicts is insurmountable. The Hales need to be here to stabilize the land. She’s only the beginning.”

“Miłosław, I know you think what you’re doing is right, but I can’t let you do this, love.” His mother says looking at him sadly. “You just had a bad dream. Hunters have a code and they live by it or they will be cut down by their own.” She says vehemently. His mother always believed in the code. Damn, how could he forget about that part too?

Stiles thinks he’s going to have to come back here on his own. Then Kate picks up the phone and makes a call. Stiles wants to hear who she’s talking to and what they are saying so he pushes his magic into the Nemeton and the video like feed changes to allow for sound and another figure in another video like a feed of his own appears next to Kate.

“Hey, dad,” Kate says into the phone. “Did you see the paper?” Kate sneers as she picks at crumbs on the table.

Gerard Argent swallows his cup of coffee before he answers. “Katie, my dear. I take it you’re behind the handiwork in the paper today?” He asks proudly as he opens a French newspaper.

The headline is “Tragic fire”. The picture beneath the caption is of a huge burned down mansion reminiscent of the Hale house. Stiles thinks 'zoom in and the video like feed zooms in on the article. It basically says an entire two generations have been killed in this accidental fire. Yeah, that’s definitely Kate’s M.O.

Stiles looks at his mother as she watches Kate Argent strut around her kitchen, drinking her coffee, eating breakfast after basically almost admitting that she’s cold halfheartedly killed off two generations. In one fell swoop, Kate has murdered two generations.

Claudia looks at her son and Stiles can see that she knows the family. He’s not surprised. Stiles should have known that Kate was international. “Do it,” Claudia says quietly but with conviction.

Stiles does, but it’s not death that Stiles seeks. Stiles is sixteen and seven and he’s still his father’s son. His sense of justice controls his next actions. Stiles could have sent an electrical charge to both Kate and Gerard, instead, he sends them both one word:

“Confess.”

Stiles watches as both Kate and Gerard stare blankly for a second before they put down the phones. They each last a minute before they are both compelled to leave their homes. Kate walks outside in her pajamas and no shoes. Gerard walks out of his house not even bothering to lock the door.

Stiles doesn’t need to see the result of his one word will have on them. He doesn’t care as long as they stay away from the Hales. Stiles looks over at his mother expecting to be reprimanded.

“You did good, kiddo.” She says smiling fondly at him. He sighs in relief releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His mother ruffles his hair. He leans into her touch and just tries to memorize the feel of her, the smell of her and the look of her.   
She’s about to change; about to start mentally and physically abusing him. Right now, though, she loves him and she’s proud of him. Stiles feels his heart constrict in pain and tears pop out of his eyes. He lets them drop down his cheeks. His spark is at his neck trying to soothe him. It moves along his collarbone and behind his ear. It’s oddly soothing and Stiles finally rises from his spot on the Nemeton.

“What is it Miłosław?” his mother asks him. She can see his sadness and Stiles wishes he could answer her. So he does what he’s been doing since she passed: he puts on his Stiles Mask. It should work, but his mother shakes her head. “That won’t work with me, love. I’m your mother and your mask is invisible to me.” She says with a sad look on her face.

“Mom, ‘m sorry.” Stiles finally says breaking down and hugging his mother fiercely. “I’m just so tired, mom. I’m tired of missing you so fucking much. Of having you so close now but knowing you’ll be dead soon. I’m sorry for being a terrible needy, clingy son.” His mother just holds him as he cries. She sits on the Nemeton and he climbs into her lap.

An insurmountable time later he finally stops, hugs his mother a final time and they get up to start the walk home. Stiles’ Spark hides its self right before the sheriff meets them halfway home and walks them the rest of the way. They tell him about the trip to the Nemeton and about Stiles’ angst. They leave out the Argents confession.

They eat breakfast at the diner like it's a normal Saturday in Beacon Hills. Stiles is expecting something to happen to him. He’s hyper vigilant and on the defense the whole time. He checks every corner for threats when he walks into the diner. He knows at least two ways to exit the building. John and Claudia notice the odd behavior. John thinks it's because of the recent nightmare, but Claudia knows it's because of the things he confessed to her on the way to the Nemeton. Neither one of them says anything to him.

When they get home Stiles spends time with his mother. He knows that she soon starts manifesting the early signs of dementia that will finally take her life, Stiles decides to tell his father the next day.

This won’t change anything. Claudia will still die when Stiles is ten. What it will change is the mental and physical anguish Stiles is about to face. It will change that John won’t come home one day to find Stiles strapped to the kitchen table with blood running down his back. Claudia thought Stiles was going to kill her if she didn’t beat the need out of Stiles.

It won't change much, but in many ways, it will change a lot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stiles tells John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just made a few corrections. Nothing in the story has changed.  
> Please see notes at the end.

John Stilinski is getting ready for work on Sunday morning at 5:30 in the morning. Stiles lays on his bed waiting for the man to walk down to make his own breakfast and prepare his own bag lunch.

Stiles slept for exactly four hours. Then he'd awakened to stare at the Lupus constellation on his ceiling. He'd stared at it for a good hour as he'd prepared to tell John that his perfect wife was sick. More sick than John knew. It wasn't lost on Stiles that he was about to end their happy home.

Stiles couldn't help the long sigh that escaped his lips. He loves Claudia so much and she's the glue that holds their little family together. Last time when she got sick, it had driven Stiles a little mad. This time would be no different. Stiles is ready for his mother to mentally and physically abuse him.

Stiles is hoping John takes it as well as he did last time when it was John telling Stiles. His father steps into the hallway and closes the bedroom door. Claudia will wake up when she hears Stiles wakes so Stiles will have to be quiet. Stiles is used to his dad waking up at the ass-crack of dawn to go to work.

Stiles has been worried this whole time about telling his father about his mother. It really should be the other way around. Stiles supposes it’s because they don’t want him to worry. If he waits any longer to tell his father, though, Claudia will try to turn him into a psychopath.

Last time, she’d succeeded. Stiles had killed his mother, slowly. John hadn’t been there the day she died so he hadn’t seen the way Claudia had slipped into death. Frontotemporal dementia is not a death sentence, but Stiles didn’t know that when he’d first been told of his mother’s illness.

Stiles was told by Peter Hale, of all people, that her illness was not terminal. That’s when Stiles realized he’d killed his mother just by wishing it. According to Deaton, his so-called Spark had executed Stiles’ wish.

Stiles had gone home after hearing Peter’s comment. He doesn’t even remember what he’d said to Peter. Had he dismissed the comment or had he hummed in agreement? Did it even matter? The wolf had made the comment as if he had come to his own realization. Stating a fact, it was a rhetorical statement. The wolf hadn’t rejected him. He’d still asked him if he wanted the bite. That spoke volumes of Peter Hale.

Stiles had researched the illness and promptly gotten sick. He'd stayed in bed that whole day, wrestling with his guilt. He'd finally come to the conclusion that he was a monster and a piece of shit. Just like his mom said he was. He was fine with it. Stiles was a murderer. He knew it now and was just glad he hadn’t killed anyone else after his mother. Two days later, Stiles was kidnapped by Gerard and the geriatric psychopath had beaten him in front of Derek’s newest Betas.

That’s karma for you, always there to fuck you into submission. So, of course, Stiles' death is the answer. Stiles doesn’t deserve to live. He murdered his mother and watched her die a slow agonizing death.

This time, though, it could be different. Stiles realized he could change everything. Causality, Stiles by thy name. Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes at himself. OK, this situation is more like the ‘Butterfly Effect’ than ‘12 Monkeys’, but it had the same concept.

Right, OK, it didn't but who cares. Because this is it then. Stiles never really fit anyway. And yeah, maybe if he dies before Peter finds him, then the werewolf will kill his captors. Peter’s never killed anyone who didn't have it coming or when it wasn't necessary. Stiles can only hope Peter will stick to this theory Stiles has of him. Ugh, he just has to hope Peter won't wolf out and kill his dad.

But… OK, Stiles knows Peter doesn’t kill those that don’t deserve it. Stiles trusts Peter. He trusts him with his life. He will have to trust Peter with his father’s life, too. Yeah, he can do that with no problem.

Stiles is getting a headache just thinking about it. He lets out a tired sigh. And he’s back to square one again.

Because if Stiles is truly back in time, then he’s not really in the dentist chair. Not yet. He can change all of that and prevent everything if he dies. Claudia distracted him last time and he ended up in that dentist chair, but this time, she wanted to go out with Stiles. Claudia changed her routine. If Stiles isn’t there, to begin with in the first place, then Peter won’t go on a rampage.

Stiles released a relieved sigh. He’s very glad now that he didn’t go to the Nemeton and that he didn’t meet Peter or any of the Hales. That would have made it harder to accomplish this suicide.

Stiles will have to make plans then, plans for his mother, for Scott. For his father. So that’s that with that then. Stiles has decided he’ll help his mother kill him and get away with his murder.

Claudia is right when she says he’s a monster and wants to kill her. Even if Stiles didn’t mean it or realize it at the time, it didn’t make it less true. He knows now and he can’t repeat the past. To Stiles, who believes in the death penalty, there is no other option. He’s sentenced himself to death. It might not fix anything, but he can’t go through with killing his mother this time.

So yeah, it’s time. He’s got about fifteen minutes before his mother comes downstairs to find him. It will have to be enough time. Stiles heads down to the kitchen and greets his father.

“Hey, dad.” Stiles stays tentatively.

“Hey Kiddo, what are you doing up so early. Did you have another nightmare?” He asks worriedly.

“No dad, no more nightmares I think. I… ah, well, I need to talk to you. About mom.” He says flailing his arms at the head of the kitchen table.

John looks towards the stairs as if expecting her to walk through the door. The door remains empty so he turns back to Stiles and motions for him to sit at the kitchen table. Stiles instead waves him away as he begins making breakfast. John had already started the coffee.

Breakfast is something Stiles's done for his dad in the future or is it, will be the past? Stiles will have to think about that later. This John has never seen this before so Stiles understands when he starts to protest until Stiles flails him away. Stiles is pleased that John sees how adept his son is in the kitchen. Stiles is only seven after all and isn’t supposed to cook unsupervised.

Stiles places a cup of coffee on the table and follows it with scrambled eggs, apple sausage links, wheat toast with apple butter. Is it a healthy alternative to the usual fare his father is used to in the future or was it before? Ugh. He doesn’t know and it doesn’t really matter.

Stiles forgot about this too. His mother was constantly trading traditional unhealthy food for healthy alternatives. She made the connections to shop owners and farmers markets when she gets hired to protect their properties.

Stiles doubts he'll be able to remember that this time any more than he did the last seven times, at least he thinks it was seven times. The sheriff had said he was gone for seven days so that makes sense with what his mother told him about waking from his nightmares seven times and each time an hour later.

John is eating the breakfast with enthusiasm and waiting patiently for Stiles to speak. Stiles is seldom ever this quiet, but he's about to ruin the happy life they've been living so he decides to cut himself some slack. As his father is taking the last bite, Stiles begins his diatribe. He's clear and concise and talks in facts. Silent tears running down his face are ignored.

When he's about done, he tells his father about the cursing.

“So I curse worse than a drunken marine on shore leave.” He says breathlessly. “I’m giving up my allowance because that's how much I owe the curse jar. Mom’s right about… well, mom’s right, I am trying to kill her.” Stiles takes a deep breath and lets it out shakily. “I'm sorry, dad. I really am. Obviously, I haven’t succeeded yet, so there’s that at least?”

The look John is giving him is one of anger, betrayal and incredulous indulgence. He opens his mouth to say something. Whatever his father was going to say is lost forever as Claudia comes into the kitchen with a murderous look on her face. The look on John’s face is one of surprise.

“You worthless piece of shit!” Claudia says vehemently. Her voice low and threatening, promising destruction, sounding loud despite the whisper.

“You think you can just confess and he'll forgive you? Now that he knows he’s going to stop you!” She yells at Stiles. Stiles immediately reacts. He stands and is on his knees in front of her. His throat bared and his hands behind his back in full submission. This is what Stiles is used to; her long rants about his worthlessness. He falls into the perfect subspace to take this from her. Stiles doesn't even realize that his father is there anymore.

All Stiles see is his mother and his need to submit to her. His movements are automatic and familiar. He didn’t even say anything as he stood from the table and shuffled the half step to kneel in front of his mother. He understands why he's doing it. He knows this will appease her. Stiles convinces himself that it's good to be on his knees, neck exposed asking for the punishment he knows he doesn't deserve. This is good, he deserves nothing less.

“No, mother. I’m sorry, mother. I’ll do better, mother.” His words are a well-practiced litany and are just as automatic as his actions. Claudia’s hand reaches for his throat, the fingers are cold, soft and gentle as the thumb caresses his neck. Stiles closes his eyes and waits.

One of two things will occur now. She’ll either close her fingers around his throat and choke him until he’s coughing or she will coo words of disgust. Neither of these things occurs this time as he waits.

The hand Claudia had around Stiles’ throat disappears and he sighs in relief. Stiles opens his eyes to meet hers. He just waits quietly for his punishment in word form. Stiles doesn’t realize he’s crying until he looks at his mother. Claudia rubs a thumb across his cheek to wipe the tears from his face. Stiles closes his eyes and waits.

He hears insistent hushed voices, footsteps walking away and then silence. Stiles vaguely registers that he's maneuvered to sit at the kitchen table. Eyes closed he registers that his knees hurt and will probably bruise later. His left leg had fallen asleep so now that Stiles is sitting at the kitchen table the blood is coming back in small painful pin pricks. A snap of fingers brings him back to reality.

He opens his eyes. Stiles blinks and takes in the worried look on his father's face. Stiles feels the wetness on his face and wipes it away. He can't recall what he was saying or what they were discussing. Stiles doesn’t even remember how he got to the kitchen table. He looks around and sees that his dad has eaten and is ready for work.

“Hey, Dad. Sorry, did I space out on you? My bad! What were we discussing?” He asks sheepishly. He’s feeling emotional for some reason he can’t pinpoint. They must have been discussing his mother because that’s how he feels. Sad, hurting but feeling guilty relief that his mom is dead. He’s still emotional from his mother’s recent passing.

“We were discussing you coming to work with me today. You were going to get dressed. Go,” His father motions impatiently with a worried look on his face. “before I leave without you!” He says without heat. Stiles has a feeling his father is lying. No. He knows. His father has a tell and right now, that tell is showing.

Stiles decides he’s going to ignore it. It’s what he does best. He shrugs his shoulders and bounds off the chair to nearly face plant on the kitchen floor tripping on nothing but air. His dad chuckles. Stiles glares at him and sticks out his tongue.

“Okaaaay then!“ Stiles says flailing his arm magnanimously and runs up to his room. He gets dressed quickly, grabbing his backpack, throwing in his homework, a bag of mountain ash, a sheathed knife on which he practices his runes and his baseball bat. Stiles doesn’t even register that his father’s bedroom door is closed when he walks into the bathroom to quickly brush his teeth. He bounds down the stairs without a backward glance.

Stiles is hardly oblivious, but when he doesn’t expect to see his mother, he doesn’t notice when she opens the bedroom door to watch him run down the stairs. He doesn’t see Claudia look at him suspiciously with thoughts of betrayal clearly on her face.

John takes Stiles to the station and because this is something that Stiles is used to, he heads to the sheriff’s office. When he walks in the door, though, Old Sheriff Johannes stairs at him expectantly.

Old Sheriff Johannes isn’t used to Stiles yet and has met the boy only once at the town’s fourth of July picnic last year. John walks in behind Stiles and tells his son to go speak with the dispatcher. Stiles waves at the sheriff before walking away. He goes and worries about the discussion they’re having and knowing it’s about him.

Stiles knows the dispatch desk from before and when a second call comes in, he automatically takes it. He expertly manages the call and provides the correct codes and procedures to handle a false alarm. The dispatcher, whose name Stiles has forgotten and who’s not Tara, gives him an impressed look.

By the end of the shift, though Stiles has moved from occupied desk to occupied desk. He’s more helpful than annoying and Old Sheriff Johannes decides he can be the station mascot.

Stiles is glad he's easily accepted. He'll be able to return with no issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have said Claudia goes crazy on Stiles. She makes him submit to her. It's not sexual, but Stiles is already in the "sub" mental state.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stiles is comes to a sad realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fixed some typos for this chapter. I should have put end notes with warnings.

Stiles finally has a chance to go to the Nemeton to check on the magical tree stump. He wants to be able to help it thrive again. Stiles has his backpack and is swinging his bat without a care in the world. He’s forgotten about the abuse at his mother’s hand for a bit because John doesn’t let him see her.

Stiles has decided that he still won’t change anything. He is still convinced that he deserves the death penalty so Stiles pulls his magic close to him as he comes close to the Nemeton. Stiles blocks everything around the Nemeton with a circle of soundproof mountain ash. He knows that the Hales will be able to feel any trespassers in and around the tree.

Thinking back to the night of the confessions, he thinks his mother must have blocked them too, so he knows it’s possible.

As Stiles concentrates on the lay lines under the Nemeton, he feels for Christopher Argent, planting a seed to come live in Beacon Hills. Stiles plants another seed to work out a collaboration with Talia Hale. Stiles feels that his magic has reached Argent, then Stiles gathers his magic around him again. Chris will come to Beacon Hills sooner than expected. This is good so he pulls away from the tree to gather his magic and settles it back to his heart.

Scott will get to meet Allison sooner now. His best friend will need her to distract Scott from losing Stiles. Stiles snorts and thinks they’ll probably lose their virginity to each other, unlike last time when Allison lost it to some nobody. He hopes Scotty will be OK.

Stiles’ backpack is close by and he goes to it and brings out the spare boxers he decided to pack. He snorts again that his intuition was right about him needing them. Stiles walks back to the Nemeton and first kneels there feeling with his magic for the dark something he’d glimpsed.

Stiles had first felt the darkness when he’d reached for Gerard and Kate. Now he takes his baseball bat which he’d placed by the Nemeton and opens the top. The bat is hollow, made from a rowan tree, treated with mountain ash mixed polyurethane and coated with wolfsbane. Stiles takes out his bag of mountain ash and sets the bag on the Nemeton.

Stiles concentrates all his magic on pulling forth the darkness he felt. When a lonely firefly comes from in between the Nemetons cracks, Stiles calls the mountain ash to encircle the firefly.

Stiles immediately knows it’s not a normal firefly when it looks around confusedly. Stiles sends the cloud of mountain ash into his baseball bat sweeping the confused firefly end over end into the bat. Stiles fills the bat with the mountain ash and then puts the top back on the baseball.

“Impervious.” He says as he feels his magic seal the bat making it impervious to any damage done to it. It will hold the firefly for an eternity. Stiles is the only one who could ever reverse the spell and since he’s dying soon, so there’s no way the firefly will ever escape.

Stiles doesn’t even realize his mother is alive and so when he sees her at the edge of the mountain ash circle around the Nemeton he’s confused by the sight of her. At first, he’s ecstatic that she’s there and moves off the Nemeton to hug her.

“Mom!” Stiles says excitedly as everything comes back to him. It’s only been three days since he’s been back, but it feels like forever ago. Stiles silently berates himself for getting distracted and vows to do better. Well, actually now that she’s here, he won’t have to do better. She can kill him like he wanted. It’s a win, win.

“Miłosław, my love. I’m so glad you’re here.” She says sincerely and Stiles thinks this must be one of her good days. Stiles is melting into her hug when he feels the bite of mountain ash on his wrists. He pulls away from her to see that she’s made some mountain ash handcuffs wrapping his wrists.

Stiles looks at his mother quizzically, trying to discern what it is she is trying to accomplish. He realizes she’s going to kill him on her own without any prompting from him. Stiles wonders if this is something he’s forgotten or chosen to block. He doesn’t know and he can’t ask her.

“You’re not from this time, dear, so you’re going back now. The whole paradox thing had me thinking and the panic in your eyes tells me that I’m right.” She says kindly. It’s his mother and she’s rational and logical, almost clinical in her explanation.

Silent tears roll down Stiles’ face as he shakes his head. “OK, mother.” He says resignedly. Stiles knew this might happen but was hoping Claudia wasn’t too far gone yet. It’s too early, she shouldn’t be showing such signs of degradation. Before her dementia didn’t fully take over until Stiles was eight. Stiles must have hurried the timeline when he made Gerard and Kate confess.

No, that can’t be right. Claudia must have been sicker than she said she was. She’d hidden the extent of her illness. Stiles thought back to when he’d started noticing her getting sick. It started when Stiles was four with headaches. That’s when Stiles had started taking over cleaning and trying to take care of his dad. So she is gone and this isn’t his mother.

Stiles wipes his eyes and nose on this sleeve. Claudia is watching him the whole time and is speaking in Latin. Stiles understands what she’s saying. It’s not a time travel spell, it’s a sacrificial spell that will leak his magic into the Nemeton.

“Touché, Mom. Well done, you.” Stiles says with a sad smirk. Stiles won’t lift a finger against his mother. Stiles gets up and moves away from her.

Claudia trusts that her son isn’t going anywhere. Stiles knows she would just pull him back with her magic. Stiles is resigned to his fate and he’ll let his mother kill him today. Maybe it won’t be so bad for his dad this time. He’ll still have Claudia and she’s the one he loves more than Stiles.

If Stiles is gone, the man won’t have an over imaginative, hyperactive brat to raise. He removes his clothes and folds them neatly in a pile on top of a nearby branch. In the meantime, Claudia has been walking a circle around the Nemeton. Stiles puts on the boxers he’d laid close to the Nemeton earlier so at least he’s not bare ass naked.

Stiles will use the last of his magic to push himself into the Nemeton so no evidence can be found. Claudia will walk back to the house and promptly forget about her son. It’s been happening already and Stiles just chose to ignore it.

Stiles passes over the ash line she’s created on top of his and he sees that she gets annoyed at this. Claudia was never able to make the ash block humans, just werewolves. He wonders about this, but not too much since it’s kind of a crisp day and the cold is making him shiver.

Claudia is still making her mountain ash circle and continues her Latin spell. Stiles can tell it’s a long one.

The mountain ash on his wrists and ankles is making his skin red and raw. Stiles vaguely thinks he’s allergic to aconite poisoning, as most humans are. If taken in large amounts, it could kill humans as easily as it does werewolves. Stiles shakes his head and lays down on the Nemeton. He spreads his arms over his head and his legs apart.

Claudia comes to stand over him and takes out an Exacto knife. It glints menacingly in the afternoon sun. Stiles feels a breeze over his body and realizes he’s sweating as it cools on his skin. Stiles is always a ball of nervous energy and now is no different. His arms and legs shake of their own accord. His magic thrums through him and around his heart making his skin itch.

Claudia walks over to his left side and begins to draw on his skin with the Exacto knife. Stiles feels her working runes into his skin. The blood trickling slowly into the Nemeton. Stiles knows that by the end of it, he’ll have lost quite a lot of blood. It will take a long time, but it will be enough for her to finish her drawings.

Stiles is okay with this, meeting his end at his mother’s hands, it’s not what he thought would happen this time around considering he thought she was dead.

He is kind of disappointed he won’t get to see the outcome of Gerard and Kate’s confessions have on the hunter community and on life in Beacon Hills. Stiles just hopes it’s not world war two like his mother predicted on his first night here.

That day seems like such a long time ago despite it being only a few days.

Claudia must be using a pain reliever because Stiles doesn’t feel the knife break his skin. It’s almost as if she’s using anesthesia. She starts cooing insults as she works the runes into his pale skin. The Exacto knife feeling like a nail scratching his skin instead of doing permanent damage that if he were to survive this would leave him scarred for life.

Stiles immediately goes into the "sub" head space as Claudia’s words spill over him and work their mental anguish into him. His regular litany of “Yes mothers” and I’m sorry’s” making each word meaningless as he continues to say them absentmindedly.

An insurmountable time later, Claudia stands to admire her handiwork. The runes on his arms would indeed be beautiful if they were tattoos. Stiles’ blood seeps into the Nemeton in slow drips. She has managed to draw what looks like an angry silverback gorilla on his chest. The runes on his arms looking oddly like the animals muscled arms. Close up the runes are just runes, but seen from far, it’s definitely a silverback gorilla on the attack. It’s mouth open in an angry snarl.

Stiles knows it’s a silverback gorilla because she’s been practicing drawing the creature. Each rune meaning something different. If Claudia was doing this in case Stiles lives then he basically would be able to touch any of the runes and draw on the magic there to protect him. Or hide him, or do whatever the situation deemed necessary. Making his body one of protection and a menace. She’s probably even drawn some healing runes too.

Claudia’s power animal on his arms and chest is strangely fitting. Stiles sees that his mother is calm in a way that only rune drawings make her. His limbs ached and his back hurts from laying down on the hard surface of the Nemeton.

The Hale preserve is oddly quiet. Stiles remembers that he’s used a soundproof mountain ash ring around them. He berates himself for getting distracted again.

Stiles is unceremoniously flipped over to his stomach. He’s not expecting the motion and manages to hit his lip on the Nemeton. He smells the blood and tastes it in his mouth. A sad realization that it’s the blood she’s drawn at her own hands. Claudia is not trying to be careful with him. This is definitely not the mother he knew. Stiles squeezes his eyes and whimpers into the Nemeton as he feels the blood seeping further into the stump.

Stiles feels branches reaching out of the Nemeton and wrapping around him in an intimate embrace. His limbs are completely covered and only his back is exposed. His mother works the Exacto knife on his back. He feels his magic seeping into the Nemeton along with his blood.

Stiles is feeling dizzy and sleepy. He no longer feels the Exacto knife, but he knows Claudia is still working on his back. Claudia suddenly stands, but Stiles is too focused on the feeling of his magic working it’s way into the Nemeton. Stiles knows he won’t last much longer. Stiles knows the Nemeton is accepting his sacrifice.

Suddenly Stiles feels pain on his back. He opens his eyes just then realizing that he’d closed them. The mountain ash is flying it’s way to his back attaching itself to the open wounds made from the Exacto knife.

There’s a light breeze chilling the sweat on his body. The sounds of birds sing-song to each other. Stiles hears rustles in the bushes and he closes his eyes. He’ll be lulled to sleep by those sounds soon. Claudia pushes back his hair from his face and kisses his temple.

“I love you, Miłosław.” Claudia Stilinski says to him. It’s the last thing Stiles hears before he passes out from the blood loss. Soon, there is nothing but darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claudia sacrifices Stiles to the Nemeton. She also gives him body tattoos that he doesn't need.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a wrench, in the form of Peter Hale, throws himself into the cogs of Stiles’ plans despite Stiles’ wish to stay far away from the Hales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the kudos! I'm so glad you like this story. I appreciate you sticking with me as I work through my writer's block! As usual, all mistakes are mine, I do not have a beta reader. 
> 
> I saw some typos and decided I needed to update the chapter. There are no changes to the story.

Peter Hale simultaneously absolutely and wholeheartedly loves and hates Christopher Argent.

 

The man is a dangerous Hunter and a dangerous temptation that Peter might not be able to resist despite him being a married man. Ever since the man broke his heart in high school, Peter has been trying desperately to replace him. He has failed, but mainly because his wolf has been indifferent to every partner he’s bedded.

 

Peter is brought back to the present situation by Talia. His sister, his Alpha. Peter loves her absolutely wholeheartedly and above all respects her. She doesn’t try to change him despite knowing of what he’s capable. Talia actually expects it of him and trusts him explicitly.

 

Talia has called in Peter to the study to read a letter they received from Christopher Argent. It seems Argent’s father and sister have confessed to local French authorities to being global serial killers. Decimating whole packs in one fell swoop, using local thugs and bribing officials to make each murder look like accidents.

 

The two then used the resulting power vacuum to their advantage. Gerard Argent placed Hunter families in positions of power to take over the local government. Sycophants that were sure to pay the Argents for the subsequent placements in newly reduced in price homes and vacant jobs.

 

Peter was just now forgiving himself for not seeing the pattern. The Argents had left no survivors that would pass the word to the Supernatural community of their actions. All the ‘accidents’ were local news and not likely to make national news.

 

The French police have called in the DST, the Département de la Sûreté/SécuritéTerritoriale" (Department of Territorial Safety/Security), commonly referred to as la Sûreté and they had called in the FBI to help conduct the investigation. The elder Argent has named several accomplices who have been apprehended or are currently on the run. The Hunter counsel has decided not to intervene on their behalf despite the money they’ve made on the properties of the decimated packs.

 

It’s not a surprise to Peter that the elder Argent is a serial killer and that he’s turned his daughter into one as well. What is a surprise is the confession? That is something Peter wants to get to the bottom of and he has a few ideas. Peter will have to go to France to speak to both Argents before he ventures to make any guesses. He has contacts in the Sûreté and the FBI to facilitate the interviews.

 

Peter looks at Talia and says, “You know this means the Tribunal will want Hunters to work with packs to maintain peace. It’s the only viable solution. Here’s hoping my old boyfriend comes to work with our pack.” Peter smirks at Talia’s lack of enthusiasm.

 

“He’s married and has a kid. If he does come here, at least we’ll have a built in an ally in him.” Talia says reasonably. Peter knows Christopher is off limits now. The man Peter thought of his mate chose to break Peter’s heart rather than break family tradition. Christopher is a family man who is loyal to a fault. Peter loves and hates that part of Christopher, too. Peter’s wolf hasn’t even bothered to let him take anyone else as a mate since Christopher walked out of Peter’s life.

 

Mates are not a supernatural or meant-to-be type thing like they’re purported in all those romance novels. It’s more of what pleases both the wolf and the man. It’s as simple as that and nothing else.

 

“I won’t do anything that will put the pack in danger. Talia, you can trust me.” Peter says sincerely, pleading with his sister to trust him. Talia looks at him and she’s got a look of consternation on her face.

 

She softens as she realizes that Peter needs to hear that she does indeed trust him.

 

“I trust you with my life, Peter, with the lives of our pack.” She says as she reaches for his hands. She grabs them and puts them to her lips. Talia pulls Peter to her as she scent marks him.

 

Peter stiffens before he melts into his sister's embrace. He scent marks her in return. It feels good to have his Alpha and his sister love him despite the terrible things he's done. 

 

“Sentiment.” Peter scoffs and pushes away from her neck. Peter is not embarrassed by his affection for his sister. “If you tell anyone,” he says as he meets her eyes, not finishing the statement.

 

“Just make sure they don’t find the body, brother," Talia says with a smirk. She turns back to the window and looks at him then says: "You know that means Laura will be Alpha, don’t you? You’ll have to serve her as you do me.” She has a sly hint of a smirk on her face.

 

Peter sighs dramatically as he pushes his shoulder to hers.

 

“And they call me the diabolical one.” He scoffs with no heat. Peter walks out the back door of the study not looking back. Peter can feel Talia’s eyes as he strips and drops to all fours shifting seamlessly into his wolf. Peter will return in time for dinner. Right now, though, he wants to lose himself in his baser instincts that are his wolf, Adimar.

 

Adimar is soon running through the Hale Preserve taking in all the familiar sights and smells of the forest. The feel of the wind on his body as he dashes from one side of the preserve to the other is exhilarating and freeing.

 

Adimar stops at the edge of the preserve to take in the actual town of Beacon Hills. One house in particular always interests him as it has wolfsbane flowers growing wildly all around it. The purple color of the flower making the house seems innocuous despite its occupants. It’s the last house from town and the first house encountered after the forest ends. The neighborhood is a small cul de sac.

 

The man is a gunslinger, the woman is a witch, and the boy is something else. He’s not a witch or a mage. He’s something more. Adimar has taken to follow the boy, making himself invisible to the whole family, but especially to the boy. He’s clever this boy. He plays at being an innocent, but Adimar has seen the clever boy wrestle with his moral code.

 

The woman forces the boy to choose lives, make decisions adults don’t even have the moral fortitude to make. Yet the boy chooses, almost pragmatically. Adimar doesn’t ever interfere. It’s not his place to tell other people how to raise their children. Perhaps if he was a better man, but let’s face it, Adimar and Peter are neither. It’s almost as if the woman is preparing the boy just specifically for Adimar. The boy will make an excellent mate once he comes of age.

 

Peter agrees and does nothing to prevent Adimar from watching the boy. Does nothing as the boy chooses one live over another? Does nothing as the boy is told to end that life. Does nothing as the boy does as he’s told? Cold calculated and with precise movements. In these moments, the boy is himself. The act he perpetrates does much to hide this cold and calculated assassin.

 

The first time Adimar saw them together, the boy was four and the woman had come out of the house as the boy was walking towards Adimar. He’d been excited because the boy was close enough to smell and it was an intoxicating scent. Adimar had wanted nothing more than to bury his face in his neck.

 

The woman had screamed a spell that summarily cut off all sounds, scent, and sight. Adimar had been impressed because he’d never seen that type of magic. He couldn’t help the low whine which had escaped his throat. He’d scratched at the barrier for hours before he’d finally given up to go home. Adimar had been much more careful next time he’d watched the boy.

 

Now, Adimar doesn’t get too close, but he smells the boy, that somewhat enticing scent that’s always on him, as Adimar nears the house. He follows the scent hoping to meet the boy that belongs to that smell. It’s his chosen mate, the one the wolf and the man have chosen for their new mate. Despite his age, the boy is perfect, or very well to becoming perfect at his mother’s hands.

 

Adimar knew in his heart, instinctively, that he would survive his first heartache. It was a hope that he’d find someone else who would be worthy of him and his man. This is something that he’s always known and has been searching for his second mate ever since Christopher broke their heart. Thank’s to Adimar’s hope, they both survived and persevered and without irreparable damage to their libido.

 

The boy’s smell is so enticing and exciting. It smells of ozone, the sun on a hot day in April after a spring shower and something deeper that is alluring. Adimar doesn’t dare speed through the forest while following the scent for fear of losing it in his impatience.

 

Suddenly Adimar gets an overwhelming scent of blood. Adimar growls deep in his throat in surprise. He howls alerting the Hale pack that he needs them. They’ll be able to find him from the sound of his howl. Adimar races to the Nemeton from where he knows the overwhelming smell of blood is coming. He can also feel a single presence at the stump along with a single heartbeat, jackrabbiting at an alarming rate.

 

As Adimar reaches the stump, he sees a boy is laying on the Nemeton. It looks like someone was performing a ritual sacrifice. The boy is bleeding from all over his body. There is no place on his body that is free from blood. The only piece of clothing on him is a pair of boxers.

 

Adimar feels the man want to take over so he lets him. Peter approaches the boy. He’s naked, he knows but he doesn’t care. He wants to see what he can do for the boy. Peter approaches him and pats his face.

 

“Hey, kid! Hey, you’re alright.” Peter says knowing that the boy is nowhere near alright. Why did Peter lie to him, he’s not ever been that guy who lies, well, OK? You got him there, he is that guy who lies, but when it matters? Nope, no, that’s not Peter’s way. He’s not the type to comfort the sick. Peter doesn’t comfort anyone.

 

Peter stops and freezes in place at the thought. He feels his Talia pushing past him to the boy on the Nemeton. Talia’s paws made huge dents in the earth sending them flying through the forest behind her. One look at the boy and it’s as if she knows he won’t last.

 

Peter can’t stand that look.He hates it and doesn’t hesitate to tell her so. Some of the others come upon the scene at the Nemeton. Peter goes into action as does Talia. She sends someone to get an ambulance. Peter demands someone else bring him clothes and towels.

 

He sends someone else to get Deaton. The man can’t be trusted as far as peter can throw him but there’s no denying the man will be able to help the boy. It’s clear the boy has mountain ash all over his wounds, but Talia and Peter have no trouble touching him.

 

Peter looks around and knows the boy has sacrificed himself to the Nemeton. He feels the truth of it through his feet. The powerful magic he feels in the ley lines are unmistakable. Adimar wants to protect his mate, but Peter maintains control as he looks at the boy.

 

He’s a seven-year-old boy dotted with moles on his pale skin. The runes on his back are bleeding but are clearly drawn together to make a running wolf. The background is one errant cloud moving away from a full moon. There is mountain ash gathering itself to close the wounds on the boy’s back. The boy's wrists are a raw red where the aconite poison has damaged his too pale skin.

 

Peter’s heart is beating wildly in his chest as he strains to hear the boy’s own heartbeat. It’s a slow erratic sound that makes it clear the boy is just barely alive. Peter’s own heart clenches with dread at the sound. Adimar wants to tear out of him, but Peter maintains control. He looks around for Talia and if she wasn’t standing there, Adimar would have torn through Peter so that he could tear away from the scene to find the culprit. As it is, Talia is projecting a calm that both Peter and Adimar need.

 

Peter sniffs the air, but it’s thick with blood, mountain ash, and the boy. Peter knows by the smell and the pull of him that the boy is hurt. He whines pitifully. He looks at Talia and tells her to step aside. He doesn’t know if he can survive this heartbreak. It’s ridiculous, he doesn’t even know the boy, but it still hurts. If his mate dies well Peter just might have to kill someone. He kneels down next to the boy and that’s when another scent hits him. It’s got to be the witch. She’s all over him. Adimar fights for control, but Peter doesn’t give into his wolf. He steps away from Talia to face his mate again.

 

Peter comes closer to his mate and scents him. A low whine is passing through his throat as he kisses the boys face. Peter is feeling lost. How could this happen to his mate? How could someone harm such a beautiful boy like this? The boy’s already pale skin is starkly more so with the loss of blood and black runes on his skin.

 

There are hands on his face making him look away from his mate. It's Talia and she's speaking to him, but he doesn't want to understand the words. The boy has to live. That's all he wants; all he feels is loss and grief. He wants to rip apart whoever who did this.

 

“Peter!” Talia yells, finally getting through to him despite the grief and despair. “The ambulance is coming. The boy will live, but you must decide now, what you'll do. Stay by his side as Adimar and of course, I'll make sure you can stay, or stay like this. I won't be able to explain why you have to go with him. Marcus got you clothes, but it will be suspect if a man twice his age goes into the hospital with him.”

 

“Adimar will go with him. Promise me you won’t let them separate me from him.” Peter pleads with her. “Bring the clothes to the hospital none the less. Did Marcus bring him clothes, too or anything to try and stop the bleeding?” Peter asks looking around wildly at everyone around them.

 

They’re making a line from the Nemeton to the hiking trail. He knows they’ll lead the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital ambulance right to the tree stump. It looks like there is everyone but Nana and Olivia are there. Peter is relieved when he sees Nathan with a first aid kit. While werewolves heal quickly, they still have human members that don’t heal as quickly so it necessitated the kit. For once, he was glad Cora had insisted on keeping some hidden in the forest.

 

“The boy did this to himself,” Talia says. She seems upset about this. “Why would he do this? I mean, he’s only seven. What could he have done to warrant suicide at such a young age?” She asks forlornly.

 

Peter looks at her but keeps his mouth shut about that comment. He can't believe what she's just said because it's clear to him that the boy couldn't have done this to himself. The runes on his body are clearly made by someone else. Peter says instead, “I don’t think it was self-inflicted, sister.” He says pointing to the runes on his back. “No way he could have done these, even with magic."

 

Nathan finally makes his way to the boy and starts to clean off the blood. He’s thought to bring a jug of water. All the Hales, except Nathan, look towards the head of the trail. Nathan is human but even if he wasn't he's too focused on the boy to pay attention to anything else. Peter turns his attention to Nathan as he’s cleaning the boy’s wounds. At least the boy’s stopped bleeding. Peter hears the jackrabbiting beat of the boy’s heart and focuses on it as he changes into his wolf.

 

Adimar doesn’t want to risk leaving his mate’s side. He looks around the clearing for something, anything that will indicate who did this to the boy. Peter was too frantic to think about it and he can’t blame himself for not thinking of looking before, but he knows this is important. They, whoever they are, are nowhere to be found. Adimar refuses to believe these wounds are self-inflicted. Magic or no, there’s no way; Adimar cuts off this thought as something occurs to him.

 

Well, actually there is a way. The witch could have done this. Adimar is glad she’s not there and that she’s removed her scent from the scene because he'd tear her apart despite his man’s wish to be discrete. Peter, his man, knows how to hide bodies. So they’ll wait, but it will be done. This is the only thing calming Adimar.

 

Alpha is clothed when the ambulance arrives. She’s explaining the scene and the importance of letting the boy’s wolf go with him to Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital. The paramedics have taken over where Nathan has been working on the boy trying to get him to awaken. Adimar stays by the boy’s head with his nose in the boy's hair taking in his scent. A low pitiful whine leaving his throat.

 

Things occur quickly and soon the boy is on a stretcher and is being hauled into the back of the ambulance. There’s a clear bag attached to the boy as well as a red bag. Adimar jumps right in with him, moving to the front of the bus and staying by the boy’s head. The paramedics try to mask their fear, but Adimar smells it on them.

 

“For fuck's sake!” Talia yells. “If you don’t harm the boy, then you’ll be fine. Let him die and you die. It’s as simple as that.” Talia finishes with a flourish.

 

“Simple enough, if you don’t have a fucking wolf breathing down your neck.” Says one of the paramedics. Adimar huffs at this because Talia is sure to have heard it. The other paramedic is cleaning the boy's face when she gasps. Blood had splattered it to conceal his identity for the two humans. Adimar had known who it was from the moment he’d smelled him.

 

“What is it, Jess?” She’s looking pointedly at the boy, recognition on her face. The man shakes his head, shrugs his shoulders and lifts his hands in impatience.

 

“It’s Deputy Stilinskis’ kid. The weird one?” The girl, Jess, says and starts tapping on the boy’s face. Adimar growls at her. She impatiently growls up at him. “I’m just trying to wake him. This is how it’s done.” Jess says, panicked. “Tell him!” She says to the man. Adimar raises his left eyebrow and looks pointedly from Jess to the man. The look on the man’s face is priceless; he’s simultaneously scared and incredulous.

 

Adimar huffs and tilts his head expectantly. “Ah, yeah, that’s, actually only one way, it’s done, but yeah, that’s how we’ll start.” Adimar continues to stare at the man until he looks away and taps the front of the bus.

 

Adimar decides to ignore them in lieu of focusing to the heartbeat that’s still beating valiantly but slowly. An indeterminable time later, the bus doors open and they slide out with the boy. Talia isn’t there to speak for him, but Adimar will not leave the boy’s side.

 

A woman with long wavy black hair in blue scrubs meets the stretcher.

 

“Miłosław!” She yells, frantically. “What happened?” she demands of the man pushing the stretcher.

 

They begin to explain the scene and the loss of blood. Adimar is by the boy’s side while more people attend him. The only thing keeping Adimar tethered is the sound of his mates’ heartbeat getting stronger.

 

Talia comes to take him as the men and women continue to attend the boy. A whirl of activity around his mate is only making Adimar restless. Talia comes to stand by him and puts her hand on his neck. He smells a familiar hateful scent. A few minutes later, Deaton comes through the curtain closing off his mate from the rest of the world.

 

Deaton is speaking, but Adimar ignores him to listen to his mate’s heartbeat instead. He rolls his eyes at the man’s dramatics. The stoic smirk that’s forever on his face is just as annoying as it always is. Adimar and his man, Peter, both don’t trust the man. The only reason he lets Deaton stay is because of Talia. The team of people that were working on the boy starts to trickle out through the curtain. Soon only the wavy-haired woman and the tall black doctor with close cut hair remain once the curtain sways closed again.

 

Deaton begins to call the mountain ash into a jar. Adimar tries not to laugh at the astonished faces of the two remaining people behind the curtain.

 

This is Adimar’s first opportunity to see the boy’s front. The mountain ash is painfully slow as it moves into the jar Deaton is holding. The Celtic runes clearly make what appears to be a silverback gorilla. It’s raging and looks to be almost leaping off the boy’s chest. The arms of the beast look to be flexing on the boy’s arms.

 

The beauty of the artwork of the runes is not lost on Adimar, but he wishes they did not exist. He pushes his face into Talia’s hand. The smell of his Alpha is immediately calming, but a low whine leaves his throat despite the comfort. He’s able to block out all other scents in lieu of her calming Alpha sent. Talia runs her hand through the top of his hand and grabs one of his ears. Her thumb and forefinger rubbing it in a soothing motion. Adimar sighs in relief and exasperation at seeing the slow progress of the mountain ash.

 

Adimar growls threateningly because he feels like the mountain ash is not moving fast enough. He wills it to move faster as a low rumble makes it’s way over his chest. Adimar is surprised when it does as he commands. Adimar steps back with a shocked whine escaping his throat without his permission.

 

The mountain ash immediately slows. He looks up at Talia see a similarly shocked expression on her face. Deaton looks surprised too when he looks over at him.

 

“Keep trying.” He says resentfully.

 

He concentrates and growls again for the mountain ash to disappear entirely into the jar Deaton is holding in his hand. To his delight and surprise, it does exactly as it’s told. Adimar makes a self-satisfied huff and looks up at Talia triumphantly. He looks at Deaton who is looking at him skeptically with a raised eyebrow. Adimar returns the raised eyebrow and grins smugly at the stoic bastard.

 

“Hey Nancy, I got a call from dispatch that my son is here?” Adimar hears an authoritative voice come from the front desk which is behind the curtain. Adimar understands the urgency as well as the fear he hears in the voice. The man is led a few minutes later.

 

He has his mate’s scent all over him. The frantic fear coming off the man in waves mixes with the anxiety already building in with the scents. They are almost too much if Talia wasn’t there to anchor him.

 

Adimar closes his eyes and puts his nose right into his mate's hair. He breathes in deeply and as he hears the beat of a new heart join the room, there’s a stutter in his mate’s heartbeat and then there’s nothing but the sound of the heart machine single beep.

 

Talia pulls him away from the boy as the doctor and the nurse works the paddles on the boy. It makes an odd disturbing electric hum that unsettles Adimar.

 

“Talia?” the deputy says as she pulls him away too. He raises his eyebrows at them and along with the fear, Adimar smells curiosity.

 

“Hi John, we found your son on the Nemeton. It seemed like he had been sacrificed to it. I think it’s safe to say it’s probably a witch.” She says succinctly.

 

“Right, what’s the wolf doing here?” John asks looking at Adimar, eyebrows high on his forehead.

 

“I think that can wait until your son is OK, but he has to be here, John. He seemed to be helping up until you got here. We’ve got a lot to discuss and I don’t think here is the most appropriate place.” Talia says reasonably.

 

“Right. OK.” John says mechanically. He sits heavily in a chair located outside the curtain. The wavy-haired woman comes out of the curtain with Deaton. Other people are rushing into the curtained room making it hard to hear the boy’s heartbeat.

 

“John,” the woman says getting the deputies attention.

 

“Melissa, just, please tell me he’s going to be OK. Even if he isn’t. Please. I,” John starts as the woman Melissa puts her hand on his chest and grabbing the back of his neck. The move is oddly intimate, but their scents are on each other so they might just be friends despite it looking otherwise. She puts her forehead to his and breathes. He closes his eyes and breathes with her.

 

“Shh, it’s OK. They’re working on him now. He’s lost a lot of blood, but he’s on IV and we’re on our way to replenishing his blood as we speak. He’s gone into cardiac distress. But John, there’s,” and the woman stops speaking.

 

She pulls away from him and he looks confused. She’s still got her hands on him for another few seconds before she’s pulling away completely from him and is out of his personal space. The look of confusion is still on his face.

 

Melissa’s face takes on a professional demeanor that the man finds scares him more than the fact that his son is lying in a hospital bed being worked on by doctors. Adimar can smell the confusion, the fear and apprehension coming off the man in waves.

 

“Someone took a, ah,” She starts and closes her eyes before she continues. Melissa swallows and opens her eyes. “They took some kind of knife to him and drew symbols on him. They made the symbols into two drawings. One on his back and one on his front. There’s no way they were self-inflicted. No matter what it looks like at the scene.” She finishes strong but doesn’t move forward.

 

The smell of magic is suddenly strong in the air. Adimar hadn’t even realized someone had even walked into the room. It seems Melissa did, though. A low growl starts at the back of his throat at the new threat. This is the woman. The boy’s mother who has been torturing him for years.

 

Talia puts her hand on his neck as everyone looks at him. He whines when she does this, feeling angry that she’s trying to hold him back. She knows as well as he does that this is the cause of the boy’s injuries.

 

Talia sighs bends down and puts her hands on the sides of his neck. “Not,” She begins before she starts again “Pas maintenant; elle est à toi dès que cette situation est réglée. Promis/Je te promet..”

 

Adimar sighs and nods his head before he puts his whole attention on the woman.

 

“Claudia,” John says. “Miłosław, he’s been hurt.” He says as he rushes to her. She holds out her arms to him but is not surprised, Adimar sees. He’s not the only one who notices the odd behavior. Melissa and Talia share a look that speaks volumes.

 

The deputy is too emotional to see it and his face is buried in the woman’s neck. He’s taller than she is, but she holds him as if he’s the shorter one. She seemed to be his protector and he didn’t want to release her.

 

Adimar has seen love spells before and they either work or they don’t, but he’s never seen one that has lasted more than a week. The ones that don’t work, end with the victim obsessing over the other person until the victim simply dies. This is the first time he’s ever seen one that’s lasted so long that the love actually bloomed. Someone needed to clue in this woman on that fact so she can stop wasting the magic.

 

Adimar flashes a love potion image to Talia and she runs her hands through his fur, grabbing onto his ear.

“Claudia,” Melissa says, clearing her throat. Despite the love potion the witch has on John, it’s clear that he is still affected by Melissa. John shivers at the sound of her voice and if Adimar hadn’t been looking right at him, he would have missed it.

 

This is a very interesting development. Adimar looks at the witch and she’s got a scowl on her face. She smells angry and frustrated. He’s suddenly feeling less than charitable at the moment upon looking at her face and feeling those emotions rolling off her in waves.

 

She pats John on the back and John moves from her embrace. He backs away and sits heavily in one of the chairs lining the wall. Everything goes still and before Adimar can blink she’s zapped him with electricity. It moves through him and straight to his heart where the pain settles and increases as the witch speaks.

 

Adimar hears nothing else but the electric pulse hitting him. It’s pain and fear and hate and exasperation all hitting him for so long that he can’t stand it. Adimar feels himself losing control and the transformation back to Peter is occurring against his will.

 

As the last of her words spill from the woman’s lips, Peter loses the final grip he’s had on his conscious. The light is slowing fading as he closes his eyes and sees nothing.

 

Peter is naked in the middle of the Beacon Hills emergency room promptly passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used Google for translate and all my research on the French police. I have no idea what it's really like so apologies if I got it completely wrong. I'm not at all like Stiles and I hate research.  
> Pas maintenant; elle est à vous une fois que cette situation est gérée . Je promets.  
> Not now; she is yours once this situation is managed. I promise.
> 
> Adimar is pronounced aaDihMaaR


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dr. Alan Deaton makes plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know your thoughts and comments. As always I appreciate them! This is a work in progress so I will come back and make changes.

Alan Deaton watched the chaos in the emergency room with a coolly detached interest. A Druid like Deaton who had lived many lifetimes learned patience long ago. 

 

He waited while Dr. Valek put everyone to sleep. Alan had found the doctor at Eichen House, rotting away in one of the cells. He’d told the doctor about the Spark who kept resetting time.

 

It kept occurring every time the boy was killed. It had to stop, the boy had to be neutralized but Alan was out of options now.

 

Claudia Stilinski’s body would be found on the sheriff's bed where Valek had left it. Valek was using the boy’s Spark to boost that third eye of his. Alan was just so tired of having to fight for his rightful power.

 

Nothing he’d done had prepared him for this boy. Deaton was absolutely done.

 

“Valek, just - fuck - just - stop your theatrics and grab the boy already,” Alan said as he walked towards the boy on the bed. He was stable and Valek could take him to Eichen House while Deaton called the Alpha pack to deal with the Hales.

 

Deucalion would jump at the chance to get his hands on the Hales. The werewolf blamed them for the loss of his mate and his sight at Gerard Argent’s hands.

 

Alan doesn’t care about any of that drama. He just wanted his power back and the best way to do that was to have control of the Alpha. 

 

Scott McCall was going to have to go through some very nasty emotional trials in order to become the True Alpha but Alan knew that he’d be able to make that occur as long as Valek kept the young Spark at Eichen House for the rest of his life.

 

Valek is a very powerful telepath, made much more so due to a third eye bored into the middle of his head. 

 

After Alan made the call to Deucalion, he lay on the floor with the phone handle in his hand. It would look like he was trying to call for help. 

 

A few minutes later he heard a few people stirring from the sleep spell Valek had cast. Peter Hale in all his naked glory growled awake and ran to the boy’s bed. 

 

In an instant, he was a wolf again tracking the boy’s scent to the door where Alan knew it would disappear. Peter howled in frustration. He came bounding back into the hospital sniffing at everything.

 

Alan looked to where the sheriff sat at plastic waiting room chair. He looked bereft until Peter Hale went to him and pulled his wrist gently with his teeth.

 

Now this was a development he could manipulate. Alan knew that Peter viewed Stiles as his mate but if he could switch that view to the Sheriff it might break the boy. That would be Alan’s back up plan. 

 

Alan got up from the floor and made to call the police but they rushed in and swarmed around the sheriff asking questions and waiting for direction.

 

Alan’s job was done for now. It would be best to wait for the situation to die down when they didn’t find the Spark.

  
  
  



	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which trials and tribulations lead to more questions than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was posted before so nothing new here. You can skip it if you've already read it.

He is in a lot of pain. He’s tired. The aches in his bones feel like arthritis, making his hands curl up and the feet of his arches cramp. His elbows feel like they’ve been bent too long in one position. His ankles and wrists are bound by something. They hurt. I mean the kind of pain that makes you crazy. Peter Hale six years in a coma with severe third-degree burns that are not healing with no pack to help you heal type of pain; lost my family and the two remaining members abandoned me type of pain.

Stiles thinks that if Peter could endure this kind of pain for six years, well then Stiles can endure it for the amount of time he’s got to deal with it. He knows he’s not as strong as the wolf and that he’s not a werewolf that can magically heal. Well shit, this is what Peter was going through the whole six years he was stuck in that coma, then no wonder he went nuts. Was it six years? Is Stiles tacking on more years due to not knowing the exact years Peter was suffering? But Stiles does know. It’s a fact that he should know.

What the fuck, why doesn’t Stiles know for sure now. This is something he’s researched, something he’s known for awhile now. It could have been more or less. It didn't matter though because Peter did suffer and that was Stiles’ point. But it’s kinda freaking him out that he doesn’t know for sure.

Shit! All those times he wanted to stop thinking and now that he needs his mind the most it decides now to be stupid? He's really never felt so stupid. Ever. Not even when he gets off or used to get off or will get off when he’s sixteen. His mind’s gone blissfully blank the first time he had an orgasm and that was it.

So this is new to him and he hates it. Ugh! And to think that he wished he could stop thinking even for just a minute, that it would be nice not to think. To have someone else do the thinking for him. Take care of him like he's taken care of everyone else.!

Wait a fucking minute, he was just thinking this! Ugh! How do normal people do this? How do they function? This is the absolute worst. The. Worst.

This kind of stupidity just sucks. He’s so used to being three steps ahead of everyone and knowing things that this nonthinking thing makes him feel panicked. It makes him feel inadequate. More so than he already feels.

Sex was usually his way out of thinking. He’d lost himself in porn whenever his dad worked nights and he’d not been researching werewolves and the supernatural. Stiles hadn’t lost himself in porn in a long time. Was it seven days now or eight? He’s not sure, but whatever the case, he can’t wait to get out of here.

And queue the pain. This time, it’s in his neck and the lower part of his back, traveling to his stomach making him clench his teeth. What the actual fuck!

Silver lining, though, because you always gotta look at the silver fucking lining. Pain means he’s alive! So Stiles concentrates on that one thing and lets it into his soul. He’s alive and in pain. He relishes the pain, welcomes it. He thanks his mother for what she did to make him into the kind of person that would like pain.

Stiles knows he's a masochist or is he a sadist? Which one likes and gets off on pain? Well, whichever one that is, it's the label he'll take. Why can’t he think clearly? Why is there so much pain that he can’t think beyond the fucking pain.

Maybe he's in Hell and that's what Hell is. You in a lot of crazy-inducing pain. This could be his mind construct and if it is, then it's by far the worst one. But no, it can’t be, his mind palace is a fortress of solitude and safety.

It has to be something else. If he could think clearly, he’d have figured it out already. He can barely string two thoughts together, let alone try and determine why he’s in so much pain. Oh wait, his mother, she’s got him strapped to the Nemeton, but he should be dead by now. Bled out on the old tree stump, infusing his blood and magic with the mountain ash into the cracks.

If that’s it, he’d feel it, like the mountain ash on his wrists, or the magical tree stump on his back, or on his chest. He’d hear his mother. So no, he’s not at the Nemeton, not anymore.

Maybe, he's in a coma. Nope, the pain is too much, too real for him to be in a come. Besides that would mean everything he went through to get here, wherever here is, was anything but real. Stiles is seventy-five percent sure it was all real.

He's read about comas and people in comatose states dreaming about the life they wish they'd had and if that's what he's doing now, then he's a bigger sadist (masochist?) than he thought.

So, not a coma then. It’s something else. Maybe this is “My Life on Mars”. Yeah, he’s in cryo-stasis and he’s on his way to Mars. He’s the spaceman. But where’s Wendy? Or was it WNDI? He’ll have to Google it when he gets out of here.

Stiles comes slowly to consciousness and is cold now, suddenly he feels like all the heat is leaving his body. He's starting to shiver. He tries to open his eyes but finds that he can't. It's like they're sealed shut. The pain has settled in his chest, his wrists and his ankles.

The pain is there still, constant, taking on a life of its own, but more manageable as Stiles is starting to get used to it.

Damn, how is this his life? Why can’t he be a lucky bastard like in the Brother’s Grimm story about that one dude who was always lucky and stepping in shit for him meant he got to live happily.

AND!

Why the fuck is he suddenly such a fucking idiot? He knows that story and what it’s called. He knows the definitions to masochist and sadist. He’s a sadist, by the way; he’ll go with that label until he can Google it later.

Normally he’s got a pretty good memory. Normally he’s able to think three dimensional and be six steps ahead of everyone. Normally he’s not in so much fucking pain. Normally he’s not going from cold to hot to cold again in a matter of minutes. But right now, he can’t even think of anything. It’s the pain, it’s making him lose brain cells!

And now he’s hot. Again.

He’s hot, way too hot, but he’s not sweating.

Oh wait, there it is. Queue the sweat.

Stiles feels the trickle of sweat running down his face. It’s the first thing he feels before the overwhelming pain registers higher. His bones feel like they are splintering apart. This is what it would feel like to be beam aboard The Enterprise. The heat is an integral part of being beamed, he muses. The pain is seconds long for them but still there. How could you be split apart to the atoms and not feel pain? But the heat, it definitely seems to be the reason for the pain. He feels like he’s in a tanning bed and it’s on the highest setting. He’s only seven, he shouldn’t be in a tanning bed.

What the fuck a tanning bed? First a dentist chair, now a tanning bed? Holy hell, how the fuck is this his life? Speaking of which, he should be dead. He was just on the Nemeton, dying a slow bloody scarred filled death.

And he’s back to thinking he’s dead. Welp… Maybe he is dead and this is hell. A way too hot tanning bed set to crispy.

No, nope, nuh, uh, can’t be. He can feel his heart beating in his chest, can feel the breath leaving his open mouth, can hear the rush of his blood in his ears. He can feel the medical tape over his eyes, can feel the cotton stuffed into his ears muffling his hearing. He can feel it.

That. That is actually kind of a relief.

He didn’t want to die. It’s just that he thought he had to die as punishment for his past self-killing his mother. Someone must have saved him. That’s the only explanation.

But why is he here now? Where is here? He concentrates on trying and hearing what's happening around him. The cotton balls are doing a really good job of muffling everything. There’s the same hum from before, though, when he was in the dentist chair; the same electric hum that means he’s strapped to a battery that is powered by a generator.

As the realization hits him another surge of power is fed through the generator and Stiles feels another sharp increase in pain. He can suddenly feel all his limbs. Stiles thanks God, a being he really doesn’t believe in anymore, that they are attached.

He feels the skin on his bones. It’s sweaty and he stinks. He feels that his dick is free so he’s naked to top off everything else. Not only that, but he’s pretty sure he’s got no hair. That settles it, he’s a masochist. He finally remembers that’s what it means to get off on pain.

Another uptick on the generator and he’s liable to get hard and cum without being touched, except he’s not hard. So he’s not a masochist as much as he thought he was. He definitely doesn’t like the pain. It makes him feel stupid.

At least he’s alive. Sexual deviancy aside, he’s alive.

But wait, how old is he? Maybe he’s not hard because he’s seven. That could be the reason he’s not hard. He doesn’t recall how early he got hard ons but he’s pretty sure he was asexual up until he wasn’t. Stiles just can’t remember at what age that occurred. Damn he wishes he had more brain cells to try and think through this.

He’s out of time since there’s the sound of someone opening a door is coming through loud and clear. Maybe he can fake them out that he’s still asleep, or not.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Said an accented voice Stiles didn’t recognize. It sent a spike of fear right through his heart. The man was pure evil, worse than his crazy mother, worse than Rogue Alpha Peter, worse even than the madness that Stiles experienced at Kate and Gerard Argent combined.

There’s the faint sound of a clipboard and a pen click. Stiles feels soft hands remove the tape from his eyes and he blinks at the light. It’s a regular fluorescent light. That’s the hum he’s been hearing. He’s also not still in the dentist chair. He’s strapped to a bed that’s raised so that he’s almost standing. The leads are not of the stand alone car battery. They seem to disappear behind Stiles where he can’t turn around to look.

His head is strapped with some sort of restraint and if here is where he thinks he is, then he’s screwed. He’s watched a lot of TV shows and done research about a lot of subjects. Including, but not limited to mental facilities. Plus he’s seen American Horror Story. Stiles will be the first to admit that the show alone scared the heck out of him about mental facilities. It was also part of the reason why Stiles actually did the research on them in the first place.

When his eyes finally adjust, he’s looking into the evil vacant, albeit intelligent, eyes of a well-dressed older man who looks to be in his early thirties. He’s dressed in a well-fitting suit, waistcoat included. He looks like a normal person. If Stiles were the naive seven-year-old self then he’d be trying to fool himself into a false state of security.

As he’s nowhere near that innocent, let alone naive anymore, he can’t help the chill that seizes his body. Gerard Argent really has nothing on this guy. The old man is just an ant compared to this guy.

Stiles looks just behind the well-dressed man and yup there’s the door. No one else is in the room. There’s not even a nurse or orderly. It’s just the cold sterile room and the evil doctor.

Stiles looks at him again and there’s his mother in place of the doctor. And oh shit, it’s been him the whole time. It’s been him since Stiles was four. That’s his guess anyway of when Claudia stopped being his mother.

Stiles reprimands himself for not having seen it earlier. Somehow though, he sees it plain as day now. He thinks it’s the doctor’s doing or maybe once you’ve seen past the curtain you can’t unsee things. He’s suddenly very glad he didn’t die at this evil man’s his hands on the Nemeton when he tried to kill him. How long ago was that now? He’s still seven, but has no idea how much time has passed since then and now. He dismisses his mom’s face as the doctor has only put on Stiles’ ‘mom’ mask. This is definitely not his mom.

He feels relieved and angry. Relieved that it wasn’t his mother torturing him and causing psychological mental anguish. He’s angry because this man stole what could have been the best of his life with his dying mother.

Stiles is beginning to get a headache from clenching his teeth. He doesn’t want to give this guy the satisfaction of reacting. He’s been around werewolves for awhile now and you can’t lie to a werewolf. You have to find ways, half-truths, innuendos, body language and right down sneaky shit like hiding your scent. The most important thing though is to school your features. Learn to be passive when you want to kill. Smile when you want to cry. Grimace when you want to cry.

“Hello Stiles, or would you rather I call you by your real name? M.” The man begins to say his name when Stiles cuts him off before he can utter another syllable.

“As much fun as it would be to watch you try to say it, let’s just stick with Stiles. It seems you have me at a disadvantage.” He says through gritted teeth, barely holding onto the maintain eye contact with the creature that’s replaced his mother.

“That I do and that’s exactly where I like you. You’re not supposed to be here.” He continues not waiting for Stiles to respond. “I know for a fact that you’re from the future. Time doesn’t normally allow paradoxes. Nor does it like any changes in the timeline. Time has a way of correcting itself.” The man says as he moves around the room.

From what Stiles can see, he’s getting ready to do something. Probably torture Stiles some more because he’s obviously not done yet.

“But you’re different. You have come and gone seven times now. More precisely, you have returned to the past seven times.” He says continuing his villain origins story or is it, Stiles’?

Whatever, at least he’s not wearing his mother’s visage anymore. “We all have our crosses to bear. You included.” He says easily with a smirk on his face, gesturing to Stiles’ body. Stiles looks down for the first time. If it hadn’t been for the pain, Stiles would have probably looked by now. As it is, his thoughts are a jumbled mess of one stupid thing after another.

Stiles can’t help the gasp escaping his lips at the sight. The look lingers and settles it in his mind: he’s still seven. OK, so that’s happening now. He’s seven, he’s naked and it looks like he’s not eaten in about a year. He’s severely emaciated, the bones of his small frail body are way too visible. He’s obviously been here more than a week then. But if that weren’t enough of a body image issue, any hope of ever getting laid is quickly sealed shut and thrown into a deep corner of his mind. If not all together chucked right out the fucking window.

Runes are all over his chest and arms. They look old, healed and utterly binding him. Stiles thinks that they are ugly. He wants them gone, to never exist. He concentrates on trying and gathering his magic, his trusty Spark. But there’s nothing there. Stiles tastes bile in the back of his throat and if he had anything to vomit, he would. Since he doesn’t have anything in his empty stomach he finally vomits said bile. It’s green, stringy and smells awful, making him dry heave.

He feels the first sign of panic. The steel cage around his heart, the shortness of breath, the lack of oxygen going to his brain. Stiles will thankfully faint before he gets to hear the rest of the villain backstory or anything else.

Stiles looks at hi the man who has his ‘mom’ mask fully seated on his face. She’s moving towards him and is about to help him through his panic attack when Stiles flinches. The man must remember himself because he hesitates and the mask falls away as quickly as it appeared.

“She likes to take over sometimes.” He says petulantly. “Sometimes I allow it, but not for too long. Now as I was saying.” the man continues his preparations. Stiles can’t see what he’s preparing, but it doesn’t matter because, for some reason, this pulls Stiles out of the panic attack.

Stiles closes his eyes and clearly sees the memory of his mother and how different she was before this man took over her mind. He was four, but it feels like it just happened yesterday, but that’s a trick of his memory. Or that’s just the way memory works. Who the fuck knows, but whatever. He feels everything including emotions in a visceral way that he often closes the door on a memory because it’s too emotionally draining.

Stiles doesn’t delete memories like Sherlock Holmes. He’s got a really great memory. Sherlock Holmes has nothing on Stiles when it comes to memory. He is just really good at ignoring things he doesn’t want to deal with right now or ever.

“If you release me now, I’ll tell the werewolves to kill you quickly. Otherwise, you’re looking at a painful death. You know they could tear you apart? Losing your limbs one at a time and slowly bleeding to death in your own filth isn’t any way you’d want to go.” Stiles deadpans to the man that was once his mother.

The man looks at him, surprise etched on his face. What the fuck? Stiles best guess is that he’s never been that hopeful before hence the surprise on the man’s face. More than likely it’s because the man knows Stiles hasn’t met any werewolves yet. The man’s eyes dart away from Stiles as he fiddles with the machine. Stiles starts to think as the man’s got his back to Stiles. He looks down at himself and at the runes, he’s written on his pale flesh.

The man’s bound him and this whole time he had used Stiles as a conduit to his own magic so binding Stiles’ Spark makes no sense. Without Stiles’ magic, the man probably can’t perform any magic of his own. He’d have to cast spells or make potions for his magic do anything.

“I’ve stopped you the last six times because I don’t think timelines should be changed. History should not be erased by a mere boy. This time, you came back, though I decided to let you intervene. I wanted to see if Time would stop you if Nature and Fate would stop you. To my surprise, it didn’t. Nothing stopped you. You kept making changes, much to my chagrin.”

Stiles can’t help the hysterical cackle that falls out of his mouth. It bubbles out of him and once he starts he can’t stop. It’s hilarious. OK? The whole situation is fucking hilarious. He can’t help himself continue to laugh until tears come out of his eyes and he is finally able to get control.

Stiles sighs and smiles at the man’s incredulous face.

“You’re so fucked. You know that right?” He asks the man with delight. He frowns at Stiles and that, that’s just delightful. “You’d better kill me, witch, or whatever you are, because if you leave me alive, despite being human with no Spark, I will kill you.” He’s scowling now. Stiles knows the man’s angry. And anger? Well, anger makes you stupid and careless.

Stiles has a hunch about him and the way that he had stopped himself from touching Stiles makes him think that there’s another reason for it. He watches as the man’s anger continue to build.

There’s nothing like a snarky teenager to get the blood boiling is there? The more he continues to smirk, the angrier the man seems to get. Stiles starts to open his mouth to say something else and that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

The man strides the few feet to Stiles and reaches for his neck with his hands and they wrap around easily. The skin on skin contact is electrifying. It feels like Stiles’ skin is crawling and if he could look down, that’s what it would seem like, but really, it’s the runes that are changing.

The little bit of magic she has causes them to change, making them active. Instead of binding him, they become alive, representing the power of the pictures they depict. Suddenly Stiles can feel the power of his Spark rushing back into his body and settling right under his sternum.

Stiles felt the moment that Claudia’s magic, his mother’s magic, starts to work on him. Stiles can tell the difference between this man’s magic and his mother's. His mother must still be in there somewhere.

She must have worked a spell of her own that prevented the witch from touching him again. It was a just in case the man decided to hurt Stiles. He can feel the runes changing. The man’s hands were closing tightly around his throat choking off his airways in an attempt to kill him.

In the first timeline when his mother had done this, he’d let her. Claudia, or more precisely, this man, had convinced him that Stiles was a monster that needed to be punished and then killed. It had worked until the day Stiles had gotten tired of it. Had grown to hate her and decided he wanted to live. Live without torture and fear of death.

Now, though, he doesn’t have to take this. He knows he can stop this man and he’s so angry that he can’t see the changes or is choosing to ignore them. Either fucking way, he’s done taking this abuse from this man he doesn’t even know.

Stiles feels the man’s soft hands tightening around his throat and is struggling to breathe. He’s fucking strong and is successfully choking off his airways so much so that Stiles starts seeing spots. He starts to panic and is struggling with the bindings. They don’t give at all.

Stiles is in full panic mode now because dying is over fucking rated. Suffocating is no fucking joke either. This sucks and he can’t think and all he wants is to go home. There are spots in his eyes making everything look gray.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be it and as he’s thinking this and struggling, Stiles feels the steel hands around his neck tighten and cut off all air supply. He sees nothing, then as he’s about to feel nothing, the man releases him. Suddenly Stiles is gasping for breath.

“You’re lucky I need you alive and awake for what about to do to you.” The man says as Stiles coughs coming back to himself. The man must not realize Stiles has back his Spark.

“I don’t even know you,” Stiles says, unable to keep the whine out of his voice. “You made me a murderer. You… I… I killed my mother.” Stiles says angrily. “How the fuck did you escape?”

The man looked at him with an ugly sneer. “My dear boy. I didn’t.” He said and slapped Stiles open handed. Stiles felt the sting immediately and cursed his tears running down his face. He didn’t gasp.

“Each time, before you took my life, I thought I was ready. Yet each time you took my life without preamble, I was not even expecting it. I was helpless. I could do nothing!” The man yelled at Stiles, spittle spraying out of his mouth, landing on Stiles’ face.

Stiles couldn’t help but think to himself: Say it, don’t spray it. The man turned his back on Stiles as he continued his preparations, continuing to speak the whole time.

“You trapped me in her mind and then you slowly killed us. It was torture for me, but she relished it. She was blissfully happy that her boy finally stood up to her. That was… well, it was torture of a different sort. Now I’m just going to… ” He said as he reached for his hand to his forehead.

Stiles is lost to his thoughts, though, no longer listening or paying attention to the man. All he can think is that his mother is still in there, trying to save him, still doing her best to take care of him.

The most important part, really the best part is that she’s forgiven Stiles and even welcomed her death at his hands. She’d rather die than having a life with this man, possessed by some demon who does nothing but torture her only son.

Stiles is still in deep thought when suddenly the man is in his head. What the actual fuck and shouldn’t this hurt? But it doesn’t, it’s an odd sort of feeling having someone in your head, invading your most private thoughts.

Memories, best forgotten, come to the surface and Stiles knows this is his Spark trying to protect him, or maybe it’s just his own mind protecting him. Who knows and who cares, these memories are full of emotion and they bombard the stranger in his head.

Stiles looks past them and does his best to ignore them as he looks to the eye that’s looking at him and it’s odd. The color is wrong and the placement too high on the head. Stiles can’t look away. They both gasp as Stiles latches onto the man.

Dr. Valek, psychiatrist, writer of one book. The Dread Doctors was purported to be a science fiction novel told as if it were a real case study. It did not sell well and Dr. Valek was not asked to write another installment.

Stiles takes in the knowledge of the book and it’s like he’s being sustained by it. The feeling of power it gives him is exquisite. Stiles can’t help himself as he takes more memories from the good doctor. One after another, medical school, high school, grade school, the man’s first love, his first kiss, it’s all there and now it belongs to Stiles.

Finally, he reaches the man’s innermost thoughts and it’s a prison. Inside is Stiles's mother, Claudia. She’s young and she’s beautiful and she’s whole. He reaches for the bar, but Claudia warns him not to touch it. He doesn’t even feel the pain as he picks the lock and opens her prison.

“Michał!” She says, her voice is so good to hear. “You must stop now or there will be nothing left of him.”

“Will you be OK, mom?” Stiles asks her. She nods, but he thinks she might be lying. He pulls her out of the prison and walks out with her. As they are about to exit, she pulls on his hand and calls attention to Dr. Valek. He’s sitting with his hands at his sides, legs splayed out in front of him, drooling on the floor. “He deserved worse,” Stiles says as he nears the exit.

He leaps out of the eye with his mom’s hand in his. Stiles blinks and his mother is standing where Dr. Valek stood in a three-piece suit looking better than Dr. Valek ever could. Stiles’ relief is palpable.

Claudia starts removing the medical straps. “Come one, Kiddo. Let’s make like a tree and get the fuck outta here.” She says with a wicked grin on her face. Stiles laughs and it feels like forever since he’s done it that he chokes out a sob. “Hey, hey, it’s OK, Bud. It wasn’t me but it’s me now. I’m going to make it up to you. OK? I’m so sorry, Kiddo.” She says choking back tears of her own.

Finally, the last strap is unclasped and Stiles reaches for his mom, hugging her despite his bare frame, reveling in her scent. It’s Ponds face cream. The best safest smell in the whole world besides gunpowder. Both scents together mean he can conquer the world.

Stiles finally gets a hold of himself enough to get them both moving. Claudia gets scrubs from one of the closets and helps Stiles with it.

“Mom, why not just magic my jeans and t-shirt?” He asks her. Claudia rolls her eyes as if the answer is obvious.

“You’re my orderly, not my patient. If you walk out of here in regular clothes, they’ll know.” She says as he puts his arms and head through the top. They’re blue and faded, twice as big as his too small frame. There is a name badge with Brunski in black block lettering in one of the pockets. It is steel with a magnet on the back. Stiles shivers as he fingers the name badge.

“It’s OK, you won’t meet him this time, dear,” Claudia says eyeing him like he’s about to run on her if she makes a wrong move. Stiles just nods. Then Claudia snaps her fingers and the scrubs shrink to fit him and change to a deep red, his favorite color.

Claudia takes some sneakers from a locker and even though they don’t fit, Stiles slips them on his feet. They are Pumas, black and red. He likes them and he looks at Claudia hopefully. She snaps her fingers again, muttering something he can’t hear. Both shoes shrink to his size.

“They’ll grow with you. The shoes.” Claudia gestures to the perfect fitting shoes. They are so comfortable that it feels like he’s wearing socks. Stiles smiles at her, his grin happy. She smiles back before she turns away from him. She holds out her hand and Stiles takes it. It’s warm and inviting. It’s his mom, Dr. Valek or what’s left of his mind is a drooling mess somewhere in her subconscious. “Now we have to leave and when we get out there, you’ve got to use the force, like in Star Wars. OK?” Stiles can’t help the snort that comes out of his mouth. “You know the line Michał. You don’t want these guys? You're not looking for these guys?” Stiles face-palms and shakes his head, stopping her with his left hand.

“Stop, please, before something bad happens like they make yet another reboot. I know the line mom.” He says as he begins leading her away. The exit clearly marked on the wall at the top of the door on the other side of the room they’d just exited. Stiles was sure this was the way despite the gnawing feeling in the back of his head that he was forgetting something.

Stiles is reaching the door to the exit when the nagging feeling gets overwhelming. He stops right in front of the door. He turns around and looks at his mother. She’d released his hand at some point and he’s just now realized it. She’s not behind him when he looks. There are other doors running down the hallway.

Stiles goes back to the door where he last felt his mother’s hand. He walks in and takes in the scene. Dr. Valek is on the floor, a drooling mess, fingers twitching, eyes glazed staring blanking at the ceiling. His mother is not in the room. The bed is empty so he knows this is real. He reaches back and smacks his hand on the table beside him, knocking it to the side in the process. It hurts.

He looks at Valek again and notices the man is wearing the stupid friendship bracelet Stiles had made for his mother. He used their hair to make it. That’s when his heart seized because Stiles knows his mom is dead and she’s tied to that stupid bracelet. How she’s not an evil spirit yet, he doesn’t know, but he’s got to burn that bracelet.

Stiles kneels down next to Valek’s hand, his vision is blurry so he blinks and feels the tears roll down his cheeks. He looks at Valek, the bastard and can’t help the anger that boils low in his stomach. He stands and looks around the room. It’s just a regular sterile room with the low hum of the florescent light above him. The electroshock therapy device stands behind the bed.

Stiles goes to it and removes the safety mechanisms from the device. It’s fairly quick to accomplish this and he goes to the medical cabinet where he finds formaldehyde. It’s not exactly a self-combusting Molotov cocktail, but it’ll do in a pinch.

Just as he’s about to burn down this motherfucker when Stiles stops. He goes through what just occurred and if his mom is a fucking ghost, how the hell did she use magic to make his shoes and his clothes? He groans because he’s got to know. He can’t help himself. It’s his morbid curiosity. Stiles stands and is about to turn around when he hears a long suffering sigh.

“That morbid curiosity of yours is going to get you killed one day, Bud,” Claudia says behind him from Valek’s body. She’s wearing it, like a glove, Valek’s body, possessing it, his mind supplies. She’s got an indulgent grin on her face that Stiles can’t help but return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have put that Stiles is tortured and that his mother died. I don't think they have 'canon character death' as an option in the tags. I also should have added Brunski and Dr. Valek to the tags. I think I'll remove some characters that are not really in the story.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Claudia explains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this chapter previously. I'm going to add to chapter six. This one just has some typos updated. I changed the tags accordingly.
> 
> 29 Sep 2016 Update: I didn't like this chapter very much (read: at all) so I changed it. I'm sorry about not posting to this and my other fix. Life has gotten in my way a bit.

Stiles rushes to her and hugs her tightly. It feels like he hasn’t seen her in forever like he hadn’t just released her hand a few minutes ago and almost forgotten her, left her, in this Godforsaken place. She grunts but returns the hug by pulling him to her stomach.

Stiles feels conflicted. Has she always been there? Did she let Valek abuse him and done nothing while she watched? Had she enjoyed it?

Claudia Stilinski kneels in Valek’s suit, wearing his body, his face. Stiles knows his mother and the woman is maneuvering the man’s body as if it’s her own. She’s got Valek’s soft, and steady surgeon hands. They are just as confident as the man she’s wearing. It feels like coming home.

The look on Valek’s face is one of shame. Stiles can’t understand it. Now that she’s at Stiles’ height she can look Claudia in the eye. 

“I’m so sorry, Bud.” She says as tears start rolling down her face. It’s then that Stiles realizes he’s spoken aloud his fears. His questions hitting her hard. Stiles frowns at her because he realizes that some of his questions are true. Claudia Stilinski is about to break his heart yet again.

It pisses him off because he doesn’t want to hear it. But at the same time he’s dying to know. 

“No!” Stiles yells pulling away from her. His anger overshadowing his curiosity. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to feel bad about doing nothing!” He yells as he backs away until his back hits the door.

Claudia closes her eyes. They are the same whiskey brown color as his. The moles scattered about her face in the same way as him. He looks so much like her and is just as smart as her that the resemblance is uncanny. It’s basically like looking in a mirror for them. 

Claudia is slowly taking over Valek’s appearance and she’s looking more and more like his mom as Stiles continues to stare. As Stiles continues to berate her and spew hate at her. She takes all of it. Pulling him to her as he beats his fists at her, kicking her shins. She takes the beatings too as if they aren’t hurting her even though Stiles is hitting her with all the power of a seven-year-old frustrated and hurt boy. 

Stiles could feel the anger and hurt pooling in his stomach and it felt like a real thing. Palpable and maneuverable almost as if he could take it from his core and make it into a blade and slice down his enemies with it. It felt as if he could gather it and level the hospital leaving nothing in its place but ruins. 

That’s when Claudia took his face in her hands and shushed him. Wiping his tears from his face and apologized to him.

“I’m so sorry. I should have stopped him and you have to believe me,” Claudia started as she took his hand and put it to her heart. “Feel my heart, Miłosław. Like this, you will feel it if it skips and you will know if I’m lying.” She says as Stiles settles. The anger and hurt have receded and he’s feeling lighter and more relaxed than he’s ever felt. 

Claudia has settled on the floor in Valek’s bespoke suit. It probably cost more than what the sheriff makes in a month but Claudia doesn’t seem to care. Stiles has made a slobbering mess on the bespoke suit Dr. Valek was wearing and he’s not sorry. The asshole could probably afford it. Claudia pulls out a handkerchief because Valek is the type of prissy arse hole who owns embroidered hankies. The scripted ‘GV’ is a deep purple in perfect symmetry with the white of the handkerchief. The color is probably called eggshell or sand. The purple is probably called something equally pompous like plum. Stiles is an asshole so he’ll call the colors white and purple. 

Stiles’s almost calm when he’s ready to hear her speak. He nods his head in her hands as she settles him into her lap. Her voice is soft, but he can hear her clearly over his sniffling and the beating of her heart. Valeks’ heart. Said heartbeat under Stiles’ ear could be hers, might as well be hers but Stiles knows it’s Valek’s slow beating heart despite the woman’s voice that comes out of the man’s body. 

“First of all, he took over when I started getting the headaches. That was when you were four, do you remember? You used to go out to the backyard and play by yourself so you wouldn’t bother me.” Stiles shakes his head yes. The heartbeat steady, the voice reassuring as it’s always been. “You were five by the time he took over for good. To answer your most important question: no, I didn’t enjoy it. I was trapped in my own mind. I watched in horror from the cell he created as he tortured you. I didn’t even know how to escape. Then I saw you turn into a monster right in front of me. Valek managed to use my disease against me. 

That’s the fucked up way the fucking disease works. It makes you think you’re crazy. It makes you think your loved ones are attacking you, monsters that don’t have a glimmer of your loved ones. By the time the disease had taken full hold of me I was convinced you were trying to kill me. Valek had managed to get your Spark to awaken.” Claudia continues. “I wasn’t even able to wrangle control once.

The few times I was aware and there were few times in between it was to watch you beat him. It was the best and I was so proud of you. So very proud. You are so very powerful and what you were feeling before with the anger and the hurt, that was your Spark. You can reach it anytime you want, Miłosław.” 

The pieces of the puzzle Stiles was missing are falling into place. “That’s how you did…” Stiles says waving his hand around at everything. He lifts his head to look at her knowing this is probably the last time he’ll ever see her. Stiles feels it in his heart that she’s dead and her spirit is trapped in the man’s head somehow. It will remain trapped unless he can think of a way to free her.

“Simple really and I know you can deduce it on your own,” Stiles huffs at this because he already has deduced it. She’s used his Spark to make the spells work.” She smiles fondly. “Yup, you got it. It’s you, Kiddo. I used your Spark to conjure everything.

You know you have to do this. You have to free me from this prison.” Claudia says pointing at her head. She continues as she motions with a lift of her chin to the device and what Stiles has done to rig it for fire or explosion. “Light up this bitch once and for all.” She says as she lifts his hand in front of his face.

The friendship bracelet on his wrist feels too heavy now as he looks at it. Stiles doesn’t know what to say. What can one say when your mother asks you to kill her ghost? Her spirit? His throat feels too tight and his mouth too dry. His hands are sweaty. Even if he did have something to say, he wouldn’t. His vision is blurry from new tears not shed. Claudia moves her other hand from where it was resting on his back and wipes his cheek. It’s wet and Stiles takes comfort in her for one last time.

“You can get away now. Get out of here. You have the power to stop all this. No fucking regrets, dude,” Claudia says vehemently. “Come on, let’s get to it. I love you, Bud, with my whole heart, more than I love your dad.” Claudia says and Stiles knows she means every word. Stiles kisses his mother chastely on the lips before he straightens and pulls himself up to stand next to her.

Stiles follows her around the room. She collects a bedpan from a cabinet, then starts tearing a medical sheet into the bedpan. In another cabinet, she reaches for Isopropyl Alcohol and splashes a little bit into the bedpan. 

Claudia pulls out a lighter from Valek’s pocket. It’s a plain silver Zippo. Claudia takes the friendship bracelet from Stiles’ wrist and places it in the bedpan. 

“You’re going to have to take care of your dad, Bud,” Claudia says as she takes a scalpel from yet another drawer. “He’s going to need you as much as you need him. He’s going to find my body. You’ll need each other. Whatever you do, don’t lie to him about anything. Knowing is half the battle, violence is the other half.”

That comment startles a laugh out of Stiles because it’s a comment from a future that she’s not supposed to have seen. That’s when he knows that she can tell him how to go back in time, to his original timeline. 

“Mom, you have to tell me.” He pleads. “You _know._ You know how to stop this and reset this whole thing.” Stiles says as he waves his hand around encompassing everything. 

Claudia sobers immediately and faces him. The look on her face is full of pride and relief then it's suddenly sad. 

“You can’t go back to your original timeline. You died and despite resurrected werewolf zombie that belie that proof, you can’t come back from that dead. Bud, in your original timeline you were made to disappear, pulled from the very minds of everyone you knew. You were essentially erased from that timeline. When that happened, they put you on a Saint Andrew's Cross and tried to first take your Spark then when that failed, they tried to kill you. They used and will continue to use electricity to kill you.”

He looked at her in confusion. She’d just raised more questions than answers. She didn’t sigh in exasperation as he’d expected, she just continued to speak at his look of confusion, running her hand over his head and smiled fondly.

“You’ve come back more than seven times son. I’d dare say it’s been thousands of times by now so I know the lingo. Valek’s third eye helps me remember those times. Each lifetime is different. Each death at a different villains hand. You’ve lived so many lifetimes and your Spark protects you from them each time they try to kill you. It also protects you from the memories. You would go insane if it didn’t. It’s necessary that you forget so that you can make choices, whether they be good or bad, it’s important that you make your own choices. I don’t know if me telling you this will stay with you or not and I hope it does because you need to know. But. That decision isn’t up to me, though. I know one thing.”

Stiles raises both eyebrows waiting to listen and he clutches her hands to stay them before she can slit Valek's throat. 

“Valek has people helping him. He can’t do this on his own without it. He doesn’t even have to force anyone to help him. I don’t know how long he’ll have their help after he dies but what I do know is that you have to watch out for them. Trust yourself and your instincts to tell you who's on your side. Now, let go of me, Miłosław. I _have_ to do this.”

Stiles is feeling numb and overwhelmed. He can’t watch this, he can’t let her do this, either. It’s not right and she can’t ask him to sit by and let her do this. Even as he looks at his hands and desperately back at her face, he watches them slip from her wrists and fall listlessly into his lap. 

"I won't make you watch. You've been through enough at it is but you will have to listen." His vision is blurred yet again and he feels the tears fall from his eyes. His breath hitches as Claudia clutches onto him in a strong tight hug. She gets up and pulls him into an even tighter embrace. Claudia still gives the best hugs even in Valeks' body. She waits for him to stop crying before she pulls away from him.

“You know my body is home. I’m already dead. I just need to kill Valek now. I have to do this, for you. For what he made you endure, for what he made your dad endure, for everything he’s caused in his search for power.” 

Claudia pushes Stiles to the door and turns him away from her. She puts his hands over his eyes and forces him to close them. She feels so real but Stiles knows it’s Valek that will now die now. Once Stiles burns the friendship bracelet made with her hair then Claudia will be able to rest. Stiles hears one last breath was taken and then the thump of a body hitting the floor. 

Stiles turns and watches the last surprised look of fear on Valek’s face. Claudia Stilinski is no more. The last of her lies in the bedpan in the form of a friendship bracelet next to Valek. The third eye making its final appearance on the man’s forehead. It blinks once before popping out and falling on the floor like a marble. It leaves a gaping hole in the middle of Valek's forehead. The black hole looks empty and dark as Stiles stares at it. 

The eye is trying to roll away from him before Stiles grabs it in his hand as it rolls by his feet looking at it blinking slowly in his palm. 

It’s eerie and feels like an autonomous entity. It probably is and if Stiles were to absorb it, he would probably be taking all of Valek’s knowledge and memories. Stiles doesn’t want that, though. He doesn’t want to understand Valek or his weird third eye. He places the eye in the bedpan and takes the surgical knife in Valek's hand which is lying harmlessly on the floor and stabs the eye without preamble, splitting it in half. 

There is a squelching sound as it bleeds slightly; a dark evil smell that envelops the whole room. It makes Stiles gag and before it can fill the bedpan with the dark liquid Stiles takes another medical questionnaire and lights it on fire with the Zippo. He places the flaming paper in the bedpan and watches the contents go up in flashing flame.

As the contents burn away into ash Stiles sees the all too familiar light burn much brighter than any normal fire has a right to burn. That's his mom's spirit finally put to rest.

Stiles sits on the floor next to Valek’s body right by the man’s head. There’s a puddle of blood pooling around his throat where Claudia had taken a scalpel to the man’s throat. The man murdered her after all and she’s just returned the favor.

  
Now that he’s done as asked, he calls the house where he knows his dad is probably already found his mom dead. He just hopes it’s not in their bedroom. 


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we're close to a rescue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and encouragement. I continue to try and improve my writing. I welcome your comments.

“Stilinski residence," says a voice Stiles doesn’t recognize. He searches his memory as the woman introduces herself. "This is Mrs. Johnson. How mayI help you.” Stiles is relieved that their neighbor is there for his dad. He breathes a sigh of relief before he speaks.

 

“Mrs. Johnson? It’s me, Miłosław. Is my dad there?” Stiles asks even though he knows he is there.

 

“Oh dear, Mi..” Any other time Stiles would laugh at her attempt to pronounce his name but he doesn’t feel much like laughing. “Yes, yes of course. Just wait a moment, dear.” She says as she lays down the receiver. It sounds as if she’s got the phone clutched in her hand as she yells for his dad.

 

“Miłosław, son, where are you?” John Stilinski grunts into the phone, sounding frantic. John’s voice sounds far away and grainy to Stiles, but it’s still a relief. 

 

“Dad,” Stiles says as he breaks down again not being able to voice anything he’s just done let alone his location. He cries openly as soon as hears his dad’s voice. There’s no one to take the phone from Stiles, there’s no one to comfort him in this cold place. He can’t even get ahold of himself as he starts to feel the panic attack hit him fully. He can’t breathe and he feels himself fall to the floor trying to catch his breath. He hears his dad somehow. His dad’s voice is calming him as it’s always done. The man has an uncanny way of being the only person who can actually accomplish this feat.

 

“Do you know what is the best part of living in the 90’s?” John asks. The non-sequitur throwing Stiles right out of his panic attack. Stiles is left sweating and breathing harshly through his snotty nose. Leave it to his dad to take advantage of Stiles’ curiosity to get Stiles to come back from the cold abyss of his panic attack.

 

“Whu...What?” Stiles asks and is almost jealous of the man’s ability to gain control of himself despite his grief. That spoke to the amount of self-control the man was exhibiting right now.

 

“Nope.” His day says popping the ‘p’ when he says the word. “Wrong, try again. ‘What’ wasn’t invented in the 90’s.” John says patiently.

 

“Ah,” Stiles says eloquently.

 

”Caller ID,” John says patiently. There’s nothing Stiles can say to this because he doesn’t understand for a second. It hits him as he realizes that they have caller ID on the house phone and his dad knows exactly where he is and is probably already dispatching deputies to this very location.

 

“Caller ID,” Stiles says in relief. “Yeah, that’s pretty great isn’t it? ‘What’ ain’t no place I ever heard of’ Stiles says as he settles down on the cold tile floor to make himself comfortable.

 

“We’ll talk about grounding you for watching that movie later,” John says with a hint of an exasperated smile in his voice.

 

“Dad!” Stiles yells and before he can even explain himself John is already interrupting him.

 

“You should get to an exit, son. They’ll be able to find you easier if you’re at least somewhere where they can see you. That place is a maze so follow the exit signs.” His days says sounding tired and sad.

 

“What aren’t you telling me?” Stiles says instead of acknowledging what his dad has just said. “I, just tell me, please.” Stiles pleads into the phone. He knows what his dad is going to say and he needs to hear it spoken out loud to make it real.

 

“It’s,” John starts and Stiles can’t help but start to cry soundlessly into the phone. He wants to scream but holds it in as he listens to John breathe in heavily. “Your mom, son, she’s dead, son.” John finally gets out the words that will forever change both their lives.

 

Stiles knew this truth already but can’t help the gasp and small “No,” that escapes his mouth. He clasps his hand over his mouth as he listens to his dad cry with him into the phone. They’ve both lost the one person that loved them unconditionally. Despite everything she put them through they both still loved Claudia Stilinski with everything they had. 

 

Everything will change now. Stiles knows it will be hard but he’s glad his dad is still with him. He gets ahold of himself and tells his dad he’ll see him in a little bit.

 

∞

 

Stiles walks out of the room after activating his exploding device. He looks back and the whole place goes up in flames after a small explosion. He wishes for some salt and it appears in his hand. He opens the door and sprinkles the whole container into the room. Throwing the empty container into the flames.

 

If it’s one thing he’s learned is you have to burn the bones with salt to ensure the spirit rests in piece. He doesn’t need Valek’s vengeful spirit coming back for revenge. 

 

Stiles watches the room burn. The flames licking at every combustible item in the room. The smoke is getting thicker as it climbs to the roof and out the door. Somehow the fire alarm doesn’t ring until the whole room is in flames that are threatening to burn down the door. The sprinklers activate and Stiles is soaked through the scrubs before he walks away to the exit. 

 

People are rushing out of rooms, the readiness team helping patients exit out of their cells. A man sees him and rushes to him. He’s impossibly tall and looks mean, the type of cruel you expect to see in a place like this. Stiles realizes he’s in a mental hospital as he looks at all the patients. They are either too stoned to move on their own or ranting wildly about the end of the world. 

 

“What the fuck are you doing with my scrubs, you piece of shit? And why the fuck are they so fucking small!” The cruel man asks him, as the man fists said scrubs and pulls Stiles towards his face. He’s spitting wildly into Stiles’ face. The man’s breath smells like tuna. Stiles can’t help but stand still in shock as someone he doesn’t know is touching him. It’s not exactly bad touch but the words are unexpected. His mother is the only one who’s ever cursed at him. To hear someone else do it is unwelcome and uncalled for, in Stiles’ humble opinion. 

Stiles feels the cold dread feeling of fear leap into his heart as he feels something on his side. The next thing he knows he’s feeling electricity right in his kidneys. His bowels empty of their own volition and Stiles sees stars. It’s something he’s familiar with, after all, since he’s felt electric currents run through his body. They still affect him and go through him to shock him to his core.

Then just as suddenly as the current is going through him, he feels nothing and welcomes the darkness enveloping him.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John becomes aware.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deadpool quote: "Life is an endless series of train wrecks with only brief commercial-like breaks of happiness."

It was a rather disconcerting feeling John Stilinski had when he found himself yelling at Melissa McCall. John had been feeling angry and scared as he had yelled at her about his son. One minute of realizing he was yelling at Melissa and then the next minute he just felt confused.

 

John had heard of fugue states. He'd even read a study on it. John knew in theory how fugue states worked. He never actually believed they existed. There was too much evidence to the contrary. John now believed in fugue states because he certainly didn't recall how the hell he found himself yelling at Melissa McCall in the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital emergency room.

 

John shut his mouth with a snap and pulled away from Melissa. The look on her face said she was just as angry and scared as John. There was a hint of a healing bruise on her cheek just under her eye. The skin was yellow and on its way to healing which said the bruise was there for a few weeks. How had John not said anything to her about it? Maybe he had and she had ignored it. He couldn't ask her because there were more important questions he could ask.

 

John had known Rafael McCall was prone to violence but he did not realize that violence extended to his wife. The more John looked at Melissa the more he saw. It had been at least a year since he'd seen her last. She had lost some weight in that time. Melissa McCall was unhappy. She was miserable. Rafael's beatings were getting harder to hide.

 

"Melissa," John said, "Don't stay long enough for him to start in on your boy. Just say the word and I'll take care of it." Honestly, John didn't know what Melissa would have said. Maybe John was hoping for relieved tears and for Melissa to say something like "yes, take that awful man away" or "OK, John, I trust you. Please do it." Or even "I can't John, if you kill him he'll leave me destitute. It'll be easier if I divorce him."

 

Instead, John had watched her eyes slowly fill with tears. Melissa had flitted her eyes furtively over his own. Then she had looked around to see if anyone had heard him. She locked eyes with him again. She had opened and closed her mouth a few times to say something but each time she changed her mind. She finally closed her mouth a final time. Her lips firmly shut in determination. She had whispered:

 

"You shut the fuck up John Stilinski. You know nothing! Don't you dare meddle in my business or you will regret it." Melissa hadn't waited for a response before she'd walked away from John in an angry fuss. John had closed his eyes and let her leave.

 

John tightened his hands into fists at his side. He hadn't really recovered from this or from his sudden awareness. The information pouring into his mind was almost overwhelming. John took a minute before he straightened to let the data pour into his mind. It wasn't even a whole minute before he heard a commotion.

 

The commotion from the emergency room door called everyone's attention. The familiar scent of his wife Claudia's perfume was almost overpowering as it wafted into the room.

 

Bodies were falling in the figure's wake. John couldn't call what he was looking at as his wife despite appearances. He stared at what was supposed to be Claudia Stilinski walked into the room.

 

John's attention upon seeing the figure was distracted as he took in the figure of his son in a bed with tree figures hovering over his still body. One of those figures was a giant wolf. It was beautiful and terrifying and so out of place in the confines of the modern hospital that John did a double take and took a step towards the bed.

 

Talia Hale, a raven-haired woman of exceptional beauty, was the other terrifying figure standing at the edge of what was Stiles' hospital bed. Alan Deaton was the third figure. He was murmuring words that didn't make sense. John watched in avid horror as tendrils of some black dust were floating off Stiles' still body.

 

John's boy was hurt! Somebody cut Stiles! What the actual fuck happened! John was livid as he stood watching the scene in horror. He had so many questions and was whispering them quietly to no one in particular as the vet continued to hover over Stiles. The wolf was whining low in its throat. Somehow the noise made the tendrils move faster. The wolf had what appeared to be a smug look on its face.

 

Which, OK in retrospect was crazy thinking but it still did not make it less true.

 

John forgot about everything else as he started at the wolf. It wasn't supposed to be there. The more the wolf made no sense to John the more John started to question other things. The most important of which was where the heck was Claudia. Because the impostor walking into the emergency room leaving bodies in its wake, was definitely NOT Claudia Syska Stalkinski.

 

John had to expel a breath at the familiar scent of his wife's cloying perfume. It would never again hold the same comfortable meaning it had before. The figure before Stile's bed was a pale imitation in Claudia's dress with Claudia's earrings and Claudia's necklace and Claudia's sensible kitten heels.

 

It took a full minute for John to recognize the man in the Claudia costume. He wore full makeup. Drag queen worthy makeup with dark eye shadow, blue eyeliner, red lipstick. The man wore a small yellow scarf. John almost couldn't believe his own eyes. The man was former doctor Gabriel Valack. He should have been in Eichen House behind bars where the former doctor belonged. Six years ago John had been on the prisoner detail when Dr. Valack was imprisoned. Yet the impossible walked towards Stiles' hospital bed. The man's face was a grimace that screamed 'insanity'.

 

John felt his world tilt on its axis. He watched helplessly as Valack continued to make everyone fall in his wake. It was magic. John knew it was magic despite there being a ninety percent chance that it was sleeping gas. John knew with a hundred percent certainty that it wasn't sleeping gas because John knew it was magic.

 

John could do nothing but stand there as Valack threw the giant wolf to the side and knocked it unconscious. The beautiful fur started receding and John heard bones start breaking as the wolf changed from a wolf to a man. A naked blond young man. John sunk into the emergency waiting room chair that suddenly appeared at his knees.

 

John sat as the man wearing Claudia's clothes stood over Stiles' still form and took Stiles from his hospital bed. The motion removed the needle sunk into Stiles' vein where his blood was being replenished.

 

John watched as Valack spoke to Deaton. Alan Deaton calmly providing instruction to Valack. Then Deaton nodded as he let Valack walk out with john's son. John had kept watched as Deaton had walked the other way towards the exit on the other side of the hospital. The vet had not even looked around. He was not concerned with being watched. John didn't remember anything else before he was ranting about Stiles but he would remember this. John swore this to himself as whatever magic took its hold on John and John passed out in the uncomfortable chair.

 

 

******

 

John awoke suddenly and painfully in a hospital waiting room chair. His neck hurt due to the awkward way he'd passed out. There was no explanation for his presence in the emergency room or for the surrounding chaos. John closed his eyes against all the information flooding into his mind.

 

Instead of letting the information overwhelm him, John concentrated on the last thing he remembered. He clearly remembered Alan Deaton walking away. John opened his eyes and assessed the situation. John knew where Deaton worked. He would send someone to arrest the vet for questioning. As soon as the sheriff arrived, John would tell the man about the scene he had witnessed.

 

There were no other memories from the previous year. John couldn't recall how he was in the hospital. John opened his eyes and let the information overload continue.

 

John couldn't even react to it or bring it to order in this mind because the sheriff walked into the emergency room. He had about twelve of his deputies following him. That was almost the whole of the Beacon Hills Police department as far as John could tell. There were even the rookies not yet off desk duty in attendance. The sheriff directed his men in the emergency room taking control of the situation.

 

John waited as the sheriff directed his men then watched as the man made his way to John.

 

"John?" Sheriff Johansen asked cautiously. "Tell me what happened here, Son." John's boss demanded softly. John opened his mouth a few times to respond but each time he did nothing came out of his mouth. John swallowed around his suddenly dry throat. He shook his head to clear it because he truly did not know the answer to that question. Well, John did know, but he didn't know how to answer it. John leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees.

 

John then opened his mouth and started talking. The words were just flowing out of him and John knew he was in shock. The sheriff just listened to John's babbling. With every word John spoke the sheriff directed the rest of his men.

 

Johansen sent three men to pick up Alan Deaton for questioning. He instructed another to call Whitmore to write up a warrant for Eichenhouse. Johansen sent another man to check John's house for Claudia.

 

At those instructions, John had felt tears fall down his face. It was then that John realized the loss of his wife and possibly his son. John knew that without his wife he would be a mess but without his son, John would be inconsolable.

 

John felt a blanket thrown over his shoulders and he welcomed the warmth. John knew he was in no shape to do anything but wait. He begged Johansen to take care of his son and if Claudia was alive to be as careful with her as possible.

 

Johansen had squeezed his shoulder and told him he'd do his best to get John's boy back to him in one piece. Johansen had then departed the emergency room with the rest of his men.

 

John slumped in the emergency room seat and waited for word.

 


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Brunski, Sheriff Raymond Johansen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two POV in this chapter. Brunski and Sheriff Raymond Johansen. This is a filler chapter that explains what happens when Stiles is at Eichen House.
> 
> Aaron Hendry is the actor who portrays Brunski on the TV Show Teen Wolf. I only found Brunski's first initial on the Google. 
> 
> Sheriff Johansen is an OC but I figured not really because there had to be an old sheriff before John Stilinski came into office, right? Do I need to tag this? 
> 
> Deadpool quote: Crime's the disease, meet the cure. Okay, not the cure, but more like a topical ointment to reduce the swelling and itch.
> 
> Read end notes for the short version.
> 
> As usual, I have no Beata so all mistakes are my own. I used Grammerly and GradeProof to edit my work. Anything I missed, please inform me and I will edit.

  
L. Brunski considered himself as a fairly patient man. In high school, he was an asshole. As the head orderly at Eichen house, Brunski considered that time as child's play.

  
At Eichenhouse, Brunski can be as mean and cruel as he desires. Why? Well, simply it was because Brunski could. What were the crazies at Eichenshouse going to do about it? They couldn't leave and even if they did, they had nowhere to go so it would be a matter of time before they came back to Brunski's loving arms. The fucking losers.

  
Brunski was resting in one of the empty beds on the first floor. He had an uncanny way of knowing when there would be an inspection. He didn't know how he did it, but he never questioned the nagging that told him not to take his usual rest. Brunski heard the fire alarms activate only ten minutes into his rest. He ran out of the empty room and took action. He screamed instructions into the two-way radio.

 

The alarm was blaring loudly making him grit his teeth. When he had reached the main hallway to one of the main corridors, Brunski was already at his last straw. He wanted to kill someone and who better than a flailing kid in his uniform. Using the taser on the boy had satisfied Brunski in a way that not even sex could satisfy him. It had made Brunski's dick hard to see the kid piss himself and then pass out cold on the floor. Brunski really hoped the kid was dead.

 

Brunski could not even check the pale fae-like boy because Brunski felt pain. Admittedly, Brunski had not expected any backlash in his house. This was his place to rule and he ruled as a tyrant. Brunski dispatched patients at his discretion without a moment's remorse. The pain he felt was foreign. It started in his kidneys then his ribs and then his stomach.

 

Brunski felt himself gag and then started to vomit the contents of his stomach. There was a pitiful whimpering that he normally couldn't stand. He slowly realized that the sound was coming from his own throat. There were tears flowing from his eyes and snot coming from his nose.

 

Brunski then felt a steel tip boot to his nose and heard the sound of his nose breaking.

 

The pain before was nothing compared to the feeling of boots to his groin. That pain made Brunski pass out completely.

  

**∞**

 

Sheriff Raymond Johansen had woken up in his office staring into the doe-eyed gaze of John Stilinksi's only son, Stiles. The boy had babbled about one subject to the next in a fast litany of words a normal man would have just ignored. Raymond Johansen was nothing close to normal.

 

He was an intelligent man who had way too much time on his hands. He watched movies and binged on TV shows. Raymond had an eclectic variety of tastes that included all the things kids and young adults liked. It served him well when Raymond had to go on domestic calls or on visits to foster homes.

 

Raymond's visits ensured the kids were properly treated. None of the foster families ever dared to take advantage of the foster kids. Some of them even went on to become deputies working for him or for cities surrounding Beacon Hills.

 

Raymond didn't know how long he'd been asleep but now that he was awake, he was going to find out what he'd missed. It didn't take long to get this information because even in sleep Raymond took notorious notes. He liked to recap his day in reports that he filed in his file cabinets. So he sat down to read a year long of reports.

 

The two men he had taken into his confidence to help him investigate his memory loss were with him when he interviewed John Stilinski. He had gone with them to Eichenhouse where they were now beating the head orderly of the place.

 

Raymond checked Stiles' too still form for life. He found a feather light beating of the boy's racing heart. Raymond sighed in relief. This boy had saved his life and the countless kids that Raymond had forsaken during his time asleep. Raymond called for a bus to take Stiles to the hospital. He looked up from Stiles still form where his deputies were still beating Brunski.

 

"Enough," he said as one of his deputies kicked Brunski hard enough in the nuts to make the man pass out from the pain. If the man lived, Raymond would claim the man resisted arrest.

 

Sometimes Raymond really loved his job.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brunski used a taser against Stiles making him pass out. Sheriff Johansen and his deputies to the rescue. The deputies beat the crap out Brunski. Sheriff Johansen calls a bus for Stiles.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stiles returns and receives a visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, dear and constant readers! I appreciate all the comments, kudos, subscribers, and bookmarks.

 

Stiles had flailed his arms in defense at a nonexistent L. Brunski. All his flailing managed to do was ensure Stiles had fallen off his bed in a tangle of lanky limbs and sweaty sheets. Stiles' body reacted to a non-existent shock of electricity and convulsed on the floor of the room.

 

Stiles felt the control of his bladder loosening of its own accord. The smell of urine filled the room and Stiles felt the wetness in the front of his pants. The wetness crawled sickeningly through to the bed sheets.

 

Stiles groaned out loud in disgust. “Gross,” Stiles said after the feeling of wetness reached the floor. “Great. R. Kelly sheets.” Stiles said sarcastically as his body continued to react.

 

After Stiles’ body stopped reacting he curled into himself and his sheets. Then he knocked them off him along with his pajama bottoms.

 

He held onto his pillow as he came back to the present. Stiles felt as if he had been dreaming but Stiles knew it wasn't a dream. It had been real. He squeezed his eyes shut and closed his fists blocking out the pain from the long ago L. Brunski taser. His dull fingernails bite into the meaty palm of his hand causing half moon creases to appear.

 

Stiles let out a breath of air. He stared at the ceiling as he felt hot sudden tears roll down his face to make their way to his ears. He stopped them before they reached their destination. With his fore and index finger, he pinched from the outside of his eyes to the middle of his nose. He scrubbed his hands dry on his shirt angrily before he sat up on the floor.

 

His eyes were itchy and felt as if there were grains of sand stuck between his eyelids and his eyeballs. He knew without looking at them that they would be red. There would be bags under his eyes. He could almost feel the weight of them. Stiles did not feel well rested. Stiles felt worn out and he was definitely emotionally compromised.

 

Stiles could tell the time by the way the shadows fell into his room. It was almost midnight on Friday night. Stiles sniffed the air from the open window. It smelled like the mustiness of the room. Stiles could not decipher anything outside of that smell.

 

Stiles shook his head. He also smelled anticipation. But that smell was coming from Stiles himself.

 

Maybe Stiles was just projecting. It didn't matter since Stiles felt like he was missing something important. He felt like something was going to happen and he just hoped whatever it was it happened to him. It was probably just Stiles' own morbid view of the world. He sighed exasperatedly. Then he reached up to his nightstand to fumble with his phone.

 

Stiles looked at his phone in wonder. It was a new phone. One he had never seen. Stiles had always had cheap throw away phones because he didn't have good luck with phones. They somehow died a terrible death at his hands. Stiles knew he was a phone jinx and half the things phones were supposed to be able to do just didn’t work on Stiles’ phone.

 

The issue with his phones was annoying and expensive so Stiles always bought cheap phones that barely had text. He didn’t even need text. Stiles had only one friend. And his dad. Stiles didn’t even text his dad that much. Stiles preferred to speak to his dad and that included speaking to his dad on the phone.

 

_This_ phone was a smartphone. It probably had access to the internet. It had applications. It probably had lots of memory. It was clearly not an iPhone. The telltale ‘G’ that Stiles took for Google made it clear to Stiles that it was somehow a Google phone. The ‘G’ was at the back of the phone.

 

Stiles had never heard of Google phones in any of his previous timelines. It was weird to have both timelines rattling around in his head. Then Stiles got distracted by that thought because suddenly there weren’t just two timelines there were thousands. Millions maybe. One on top of the other intermingling with each other.  

 

Stiles shook his head to clear it.

 

He stared at the black screen for over an hour letting his thoughts swirl around his head. Stiles could normally pick and choose what he thought but the past week had taken its toll on him.  His tired mind tried to also catalogue how he could own this phone. He then also tried to deduce what the phone could do. He was trying to make sense of all the memories rolling around in his head.

 

It was exhausting.

 

Stiles made an impatient noise with the back of his throat. Then he shook himself from his reverie. He looked down at himself. His flaccid penis was laying on his wet naked thigh. He was sixteen again. He would have loved it if the experience had all been a dream.

 

It wasn't a dream. Stiles remembered several distinct timelines. He suspected that Valack lied about how many times Stiles had traveled in time. Time traveled. Whatever. His adventures in time travel were all real.

 

Scott throwing him to the literal wolves. THAT was real. Deaton breaking his Druid oath. Valack using his mom as a meat puppet. His mom using Stiles as a punching bag. All of it was real.

 

Well at least for the time being, he was safe in his house with all the familiar things that made up his room. But the past was staring at him in his mom's artwork on the upper part of his body and arms. The angry charging gorilla staring straight out of his chest seemed to be almost alive.

 

Stiles blinked hoping the sight was a hallucination. It wasn't. It was stark in its beauty and while Stiles loved it. He hated it too. The simian was his mom’s spirit animal. It wasn’t Stiles’. Stiles’ was the wolf. Hence all the shit he had resembling a wolf.

 

He closed his eyes to block out his sight. He tried to get comfortable but the floor was hard on his butt and his hips. His knees hurt when he put his legs together. The balls of his ankles knocked into each other awkwardly making each movement hurt when they grated together. Stiles struggled to get up from the and positioned himself like a starfish once he was sure he’d never be comfortable.

 

Stiles let his head fall to the side and looked under his bed and saw the Celtic runes along the bottom wall. He had made a fake molding along that wall at the start of Scott becoming a werewolf. It had served him well and it made him feel better to see it. He almost reached out to touch it to get some type of comfort from it but decided it would be best to leave it for now. Even with his outstretched hand, he could still feel the protection spells he had cast. They were secure and sang in happiness at his prodding.

 

Stiles smiled and closed his eyes. He relaxed at the contentment he felt. It lasted for only a moment as his mind moved on to darker thoughts.

 

"Ugh!" Stiles groaned aloud. He knocked his fists against his head. The action did nothing to dispel his thoughts. They were fleeting and coming in far too fast as per usual.

 

They were the reason he'd begged Scott to come to the preserve to look for the other half of Laura Hale's body. Though at the time, Stiles didn't know it was Laura Hale. Stiles _hadn't_ known it was Laura until Stiles and Scott had found the other half of her body a few days later buried with a lone handmade wolfsbane plant. That was when Stiles had recognized Laura’s once beautiful face. It was still beautiful in death. There was no mistaking the Hale genes.

 

Stiles’ point was that Stiles had just wanted the peace that came with a new puzzle.

 

Stiles felt an almost insurmountable amount of guilt at that thought. Had he ever apologized to Derek or Peter about his callousness? Searching his mind, Stiles knew that he had never apologized. In none of the timelines. Stiles was definitely an asshole.

 

He fumbled for this phone and called his dad. John Stilinski's voice had always managed to quiet Stiles's mind and he needed to hear it more than ever.

 

Stiles thought about what happened as he looked back up at the ceiling. The familiar pattern of the Lupus constellation always had a calming effect on Stiles' mind. Only then was Stiles able to confirm of what was obviously not just a dream. Stiles sat up and removed himself from the floor. He was naked having removed the urine soaked pajama pants. His pale skin had scarred from his arms to his torso and legs.

 

They weren't just random scars. He was scarred with runes. They were Germanic, Celtic runes and Latin and Chinese characters. He recognized the German and Latin easily. He'd have to research the others to know their full meaning.

 

They made an intricate piece of interesting scarring. From what he saw, though they were made by a genius who folded the words to make the Runes even more powerful. Stiles thought they were beautiful in their usefulness.

 

John's voice should have broken through Stiles' thoughts but it didn’t. What broke through his thoughts instead was a mechanical voice telling Stiles that the number he reached was no longer in service.

 

Stiles felt kind of devastated at the end of the message. It repeated itself once before Stiles hung up the call. Stiles' heart skipped a beat at the silence that followed. He rushed up to the bathroom and threw up the contents of his stomach until there was just bile. When he was done he washed his face before he looked at it in the mirror.

 

Stiles was pale. More pale that should have been possible. The word Fae flitted through his mind as he looked at himself. The moles on his face looked more stark. He had bags under his eyes as if he didn't sleep well and hadn't slept well for a long time. Stiles looked ill. His eyes were red-rimmed and the blood he tasted in his mouth was from him biting the side of his cheek.

 

Stiles touched the wound with his mouth and could feel the teeth marks imprinted on the tender flesh. Stiles spit out the blood and bile. Then he used Listerine to rinse his mouth.

 

Stiles went back to his bedroom and grabbed his sheets and pajama pants. He put them in the laundry shoot. Then picked up his pillow and threw it on the bed. He went back to the bathroom and showered. When he came out he toweled dry and got dressed.   
  
He found a black Under Armour long sleeve top. He donned boxers and a pair of sweats. There was a pop like a balloon popping behind him. When he turned around Alan Deaton was standing in his bedroom. There was the smell of ozone and sulfur in the room. Stiles knew Deaton wasn’t a demon but that smell could mean Deaton had used it to apparate in Stiles’ room.

 

"What the actual fuck!" Stiles asked incredulously.

 

It made this difficult to process. “This” being something Stiles could not even name let alone comprehend enough to process. But Stiles knew he had to concentrate in order for things to begin to make sense.

 

Somehow Deaton had changed things. Stiles was no longer in his room.

 

He was in a sparsely furnished room. A room that used to be his. Stiles understood that he no longer lived in this room. It was dusty and none of his things had been moved in a long time.

 

There were cobwebs! Freaking cobwebs? How long had he been gone that there were cobwebs? It was sad.

 

Stiles closed his eyes and concentrated. He tried not to smell the musty odor of the room but couldn't help it. Granted the room had been musty before Deaton apparated but now the smell permeated his skin like a smelly mist.

 

Stiles always knew his dad loved his mom more than his own kid but to see the proof of it in the form of his old dark musty room. It was almost too much. Stiles’ door was shut and Stiles knew if he tried it that it would be blocked by slats and wallpaper.

 

As Stiles looked around the room things started to snap into place. Deaton’s presence helped Stiles complete the whole picture. Everyone was dead. Stiles had researched to find that Deaton was behind all the murders. Stiles had woken in the previous timeline under Stiles’ own power. It had been forced upon him by L. Burnski and his lovely taser.

 

The timeline forced upon him in the current room was from Deaton.

 

His room was as he'd left it. It had the remnants of a sixteen-year-old boy with sixteen-year-old boy dreams. That boy no longer existed.

 

Stiles considered this to be his darkest timeline and yet there were so many others.

 

Other times when every member of his Pack had died. Yet there was no timeline when he'd saved his mom or the Hale Pack.

 

And maybe that's why this kept occurring. Whatever “this” was...his adventures in time travel Stiles supposed. It was as good an explanation as anything else.

 

Stiles concentrated because he knew what he would have to do to save the Hale Pack. He'd always been able to move back and forth in time on his own. He just didn’t do it because time travel was so tricky. This time he'd start at the root of all evil at least according to Stiles’ world.

 

That evil was Gerard Argent. Gerard was the reason Deucalion was crazy. The reason why the Alpha pack existed. Gerard was the reason why Stiles’ childhood friend Heather was dead at Jennifer Blake's’ hands. Gerard was the reason Kate Argent had killed the Hales and all the other packs that had been decimated. In a small way, it was the reason why Scott was a werewolf and why Allison existed. If it hadn’t been for Gerard Argent then… well, Stiles was just speculating.

 

Maybe if Stiles got rid of Gerard that stuff would still occur but Stiles had to at least try.  

 

First, though he had to get back and get out of Deaton’s hold. Somehow.

 

“Eloquent as always, Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton said

  
“What. Do you want?” Stiles asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much happens in this chapter. Deaton makes an appearance at the end. I ended on kind of a cliffhanger. I'm working on the next chapter so I hope to have it up soon.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Deaton makes a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your kudos and comments. I appreciate the encouragement. I hope you continue to read the story.

Alan Deaton tilted his head to the side. It reminded Stiles of the Pack. Stiles’ wolves.This man had killed them. Every one of them. His mom. His dad. Alpha Talia Hale along with her whole family.

Deaton had the same stoic face he’d always held. It was what Stiles liked to call Deaton’s Cryptic Face™. But Stiles didn’t need to know where Deaton had been. Or what Deaton needed. It was written all over Deaton’s person.

Stiles just had to give Deaton a cursory look to know where the old man had been. As Sherlock liked to say: the information is there for anyone willing to observe. It was that easy.

Stiles closed his eyes against it but just as quickly he’d opened them again. He hadn’t wanted to take his eyes off Deaton. Alan Deaton seemed relatively harmless but the man was dangerous.

Stiles could tell that Deaton had just come from the Nemeton. The dirt around the Nemeton had a sand color to it that was unmistakable and that sand was on the soles of Deaton’s plain trainers. They left a sandy print that Stiles was sure would only be found at the Nemeton. The old vet had blood on his right sleeve cuff where he had been careless. It seemed Deaton was preparing for something huge and it required quite the death toll.

Stiles was sure the old man would tell him eventually. Deaton was selfish with no conscious or self-control. No heart. No soul. Deaton had probably used his soul in a ritual at some point.

Suffice it to say that Deaton was only ever loyal to himself. All that Druid talk about balance was just a bullshit cover for whatever the man was planning.

The realization that Stiles had been tricked hit Stiles like a punch to the gut. Deaton had told Stiles not to save them. Any of them. The Hales. Stiles’ mom and dad. The Pack. That same bullshit Elder Spock fed the new Kirk in the Star Trek reboot.

Changing the timeline would cause catastrophic life altering worse case scenarios. Deaton was obviously more dramatical than Elder Spock.

“You’ve been busy.” Stiles waved his hand loosely at Deaton. Deaton actually looked down at himself before he looked back at Stiles with startled confusion on his face. The man probably didn’t know what Stiles was looking at that gave Deaton away. “Just. What do you want, man?” Stiles asked exasperatedly.

“You. Of course.” Deaton said after a long pregnant silence. “You’re the last ingredient but we have to go. Back.” Deaton said smugly. He rocked on his heels before settling back to stand still again. Stiles was exhausted so he nodded his head.

“Fine,” Stiles said. When he tried to wave his hand in a ‘come on’ gesture Stiles found that he couldn’t. The bastard had Stiles in some sort of invisible hold. He looked at Deaton only to find the man with a smug smile on his face. It was as close to a smile as was possible where Alan Deaton was concerned.

Stiles rolled his eyes which made the old man frown.

“You should respect your superiors,” Deaton said. If Stiles was going to respect anyone it certainly wasn’t going to be Alan Deaton.

Stiles looked around mockingly before he said sarcastically: “I would if there were any around.” He shook his head and said: “You’re a fool,” Stiles said impatiently.

Deaton huffed and looked put upon. He looked like he wanted to say something. He probably did but Stiles didn’t want to hear it. The look didn’t last long because Deaton’s face was once again closed off and stoic.

As usual, Stiles couldn’t leave well enough alone. It was his trademark after all. Stiles’ mouth overtook his brain as usual.

“Your Shade is missing,” Stiles said more than asked Deaton. Stiles wasn’t expecting an answer to his rhetorical statement but the surprised look on Deaton’s face was just as satisfying as getting one anyway.

It was just as Stiles suspected. Deaton had removed his soul at some point. The spell wasn’t that difficult to perform. Keeping the soul from disintegrating or going where Shades are supposed to go was another matter. Stiles suspected that Deaton was not successful in keeping his soul intact.

“Better off this way,” Deaton answered. The old man didn’t sound sad or whimsical as if he was remembering a good friend. Deaton was just nonchalant about the whole thing.

Stiles was surprised but not by the answer. This was just the way Deaton’s mind worked. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with Alan Deaton. Deaton was free from all inhibitions that had once made the man hesitate. To Deatons’ way of thinking this Deaton is a better version than the one with a soul.

“Enough about me Mister Stilinski,” Deaton said before he turned away from Stiles. Stiles hadn’t missed the panicked look on the man’s face before the man turned his back on Stiles.

Stiles thought about what the panic look meant. In fact, the look made Stiles want to look harder into Deaton’s actions in every timeline. The death tolls. All of the sacrifices. More importantly was where they were performed: at the ley lines leading to the Nemeton. The actual deaths sacrificed on the Nemeton. Stiles’ role in the huge puzzle. It made Stiles groan because of course.

Deaton was going to try to summon Cthulhu. Stiles groaned and closed his eyes. There was a tightening of his chest that Stiles couldn’t let loose. He’d never been able to stay still and it was killing him that he couldn’t even fidget.

Stiles knew he could probably break out of the hold Deaton had on him. But Stiles found that he just didn’t feel like it. He was tired and just wanted this whole thing to be over and if that was going to be through the entity known as Cthulhu then so be it.

Cthulhu was probably one of the only entities that could kill a Spark as powerful as Stiles so Deaton’s on the right track. What Deaton didn’t know was that Cthulhu would probably kill everything within its vicinity.

Stiles just hoped there were no innocents before the entities dimension closed.

“I was wrong. You’re an idiot as well as a fool.” Stiles said vehemently before Deaton took out a cattle prod.

He didn’t use it on Stiles. Yet. Stiles knew it would be used on him eventually. It was just held loosely in the man’s hand. Stiles felt his stomach flip as the room began to disappear. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again he was outside.

Stiles could feel the cold night air on his face. He expected to be close to the Nemeton. In the middle of the stump.

Instead, Stiles found himself in front of Eichen House.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a surprising figure or two appears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ends with a cliffhanger. I already am working on the next chapter so I'll hopefully have it posted soon. Thanks again for all the kudos and for sticking with me.

There was a Celtic Rune drawn on the surface of the stone post that made up one-half of the entrance to the old psychiatric building. It was red. It was probably fresh blood. The closer they walked towards it the more Stiles was sure it was blood. The acrid iron scent of it was unmistakable.

 

Stiles stopped walking towards the building. Deaton just strong armed him to keep moving. 

 

Eichen House was pure evil and Stiles wanted nothing to do with it.

 

“No,” Stiles said firmly for all the good that it did. Deaton was not listening. He ignored Stiles and force marched him into the building through the side entrance. It led them to the basement. 

 

Stiles had no idea what fear was until that moment. It was the realization that Deaton would not only succeed in summoning Cthulhu but would probably survive summoning the entity.

 

The hospital ward hidden within the old building smelled of mold, blood and death and the overpowering smell of formaldehyde. The empty cylinders standing next to each other were the source of that particular pungent odor.

 

There was a crowd of people waiting for them just on the other side of the room. They were patients, nurses, technicians, hunters, kids, and doctors. Cthulhu would make mincemeat of these acolytes. 

 

Deaton led Stiles to an operating table where three doctors ala Hellboy’s Karl Ruprecht Kroenen were standing waiting for Stiles. They reached for Stiles and roughly lay him on a stretcher next to the operating table. 

 

Stiles didn’t want to be an experiment. These doctors were going to murder him slowly. They would drain him of his magic and Stiles would be helpless to prevent them. 

 

Well! Fuck that noise. Stiles would rather be dead. As Stiles was about to raise his hands to push the doctors away and run back to the exit doors Stiles felt a sting in his neck.

 

When he turned to look back he was staring at a fourth doctor. Stiles guessed it was the anesthesiologist by how his limbs felt both tingly and heavy. Then he felt sleepy.

 

Stiles felt himself fall to his knees hard enough to bruise. He looked around him as he heard the murmur of other’s voices. Two orderlies were joking around quietly behind the doctor. He turned around frantically as he looked around the basement.

 

There was no help for him there. At the far wall, Stiles could see the hole that was the last resting place of Corporal Rhys. It looked like this place would be how Stiles would meet his end too. The thought was reassuring as Stiles stopped fighting the medicine racing through his body. 

 

Blessedly all was dark before his head hit the floor. 

 

∞

 

The thing about Cthulhu that many beings didn’t understand was that Cthulhu was a rational being. A being from another dimension Cthulhu was not a mindless beast. 

 

Cthulhu lived in a vast ocean and it was connected to many other dimensions by the thinnest of layers.

 

Next to that vast ocean was an equally vast land surrounded by a mish mosh of other dimensions sewn together. Over the years many beings tried to summon Cthulhu. The result of which ended in at least two acres of land to appear in Cthulhu’s dimension. There were forests, deserts, tropical lands from earth sitting side by side with each other and next to unstable lands from other dimensions.

 

Within these lands, the creatures of those lands flourished. The Coqui from the tropical island of Puerto Rico lived there and Cthulhu loved to hear it sing its song. Humans made their life peacefully next to aliens from dimensions across the galaxy. Cthulhu’s favorite was the man from Adam’s dimension who made sandwiches from migrating beasts.

 

Cthulhu loved the life Cthulhu lead. There was nothing that should ever disrupt this life but if it did then there will be hell to pay and Cthulhu to collect that payment. 

 

If a being was taken to the dimension in which Cthulhu lived then that being had crossed into a new existence. There was no escaping Cthulhu’s dimension. It was almost like purgatory. 

 

If asked what Cthulhu thought about other beings trying to summon Cthulhu… Cthulhu would have answered: “What is an insignificant thing to a being such as Cthulhu? It is but an inconvenience. To be dealt with as such.”

 

Basically, humans are to Cthulhu what ants are to humans. They are a nuisance trying to ruin a good day at a picnic. Not that Cthulhu had picnics but Cthulhu liked to think of Cthulhu’s life in Cthulhu’s dimension as close to contentment as Cthulhu would ever get.

 

Cthulhu found that the beings that tried to summon and force Cthulhu to do their bidding would not realize that they were just opening a door to Cthulhu’s dimension. Their chanting opened the door to the dimension in which Cthulhu lived. But Cthulhu would not be controlled. Cthulhu was always in control.

 

Cthulhu happened to have no feelings about the doors to other dimensions being opened. It was just an inconvenience that took Cthulhu out of Cthulhu’s happy place. Cthulhu could do nothing about the dimension being opened but when it occurred Cthulhu took advantage of the situation.

 

Cthulhu was enjoying yet another day in paradise when the portal between his world and the dimension Cthulhu knew as inhabiting Earth and it’s human beings opened. Cthulhu waited for the new land to appear in Cthulhu’s dimension. It would be absorbed and integrated as were the others. There were many voices that Cthulhu could hear but couldn’t see. 

 

Cthulhu almost never ascended to any dimension. It was not necessary. Every single time the dimension had been opened Cthulhu allowed the door to remain open long enough for the new land to integrate fully into Cthulhu’s dimension. 

 

Cthulhu could see the beginnings of a building. It was pure evil. Cthulhu could see the black soul of the building. 

 

Cthulhu heard the sound was of those who were followers of some idiot who thought to conquer the Cthulhu’s world.

 

Cthulhu waited for the new land to fully appear and integrate to its new dimension. As the land was slowly absorbed the building suddenly shook. Cracks appeared from the bottom to the very top of the building. Swarms of people in all manner of dress and age left through it’s doors. 

 

Then as Cthulhu watched the building shook in earnest and its walls started crumbling. The noise the building made as it died was terrible. At least it wouldn’t exist to wreak more havoc.

 

∞

 

Stiles woke with a dry mouth and numb limbs. When he tried to move his movements were stopped by straps. He looked down at his hands and saw that he was shirtless.

 

His skin was pale and free of markings. The tattoo his mother had given him was no longer there. Upon closer look, there was a silver colored cream over all his chest and arms. The markings on his body were probably underneath the salve. 

 

Stiles tried to summon his magic but found that he couldn’t. He was bound physically as well as magically.

 

“He’s awake,” a metallic subway voice said coldly. No sooner had the voice stopped that Stiles felt the tell tale noise of electricity. He hated this next part because it really sucked. 

 

The electricity when it finally went through his body made him wet himself. The pain went through his whole body. He clenched his teeth so hard that he felt a few crack before he finally passed out.

 

∞

 

Stiles stirred from a long sleep but he was still tired. He just wanted five more minutes. Stiles didn’t think five more minutes would make him less tired. So he opened his eyes slowly and took in the scene around him. 

 

There were people around him. Lots of people. Whispering. Like Schrödinger's cat, Stiles’s memories appeared in his mind as he looked at the faces around him.

 

The first person he focused his eyes on was Gerard Argent. He was holding onto a little blond girl’s hand. Stiles knew right away the girl was Kate Argent.

 

Pain bloomed in Stiles’s head. The sudden memories in his head were difficult for Stiles. He didn’t understand why it was happening. Then he realized it was all his timelines converging in his mind. 

 

Then Stiles got angry for all the horrible things Gerard and Kate had done to him throughout all his time lines.

 

Then Stiles' mind went from all those things to focus on Gerard. He was a product of his environment. A child of incest whose mind was formed by the Argent family practice set in motion from generations before Gerard was even born.

 

Gerard was sneering at Stiles as if he could read Stiles’ thoughts. And yeah when it came down to it Stiles’ face that was probably what Gerard was doing. Stiles' face was too damn easy to read. When Kate pulled on Gerard’s hand he bent down to look at her Stiles was surprised to see it was with a fond expression on Gerard's face. Kate whispered something that Stiles couldn’t hear.

 

Stiles got distracted by the movement of another girl’s fidgeting. Her hair was a red afro that seemed to be floating above her head. Stiles knew he was staring but he couldn’t help it. That girl was Meredith. The Banshee.

 

Memories of her inaction in every one of Stiles’ lifetime and there were many. Stiles continued to stare and Meredith continued to fidget. 

 

He was distracted yet again when Valack came between him and the seemingly hoards of people in front of Stiles. The role Valack played in Stiles’ life was just as detrimental as Gerard and Kate’s.

 

They had all beaten him, robbed him, raped him and had killed his father, his mother, Scott, the Pack. There was one thing the good doctor and the Argents hadn’t done to Stiles and that was treated him with kindness.

 

Valack pulled open a blue hospital blanket and draped it over Stiles body and tucked it under his chin.

 

That was when Stiles realized he was only wearing boxers that were too many sizes too big for him. He wondered how old he was this time around.

 

“You’re four,” Valack said before he turned away from Stiles. Well, Stiles supposed that would be the only kindness he’d ever receive from Valack.

 

Stiles tried to take in the rest of the people in the room but he couldn’t. The doctors from Hell Boy were around him right away. They put electrodes on his temples, a heart monitor on his finger, and finally, an IV was put into his right arm vein. 

 

The whispers from the people in the gallery were getting louder. The words were understandable to Stiles.

 

His heart monitor beeped to life. As usual, his heart was going as fast as jack rabbits. 

 

“The subject’s blood pressure is high.” The metallic voice of what Stiles now knew was one of the dread doctors. They too had hurt Stiles, had killed his family and friends. His Pack. They had changed humans into monsters and in each timeline, the Beast was their end game. 

 

Yet Stiles and his friends and sometimes Stiles by himself had defeated each one of them. He smiled at that thought as he watched the doctors work on him. 

 

“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn,” In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu lies dreaming. The anesthesiologist metallic voice started chanting. Then Valack picked up the chant and soon the whole room picked up the chant. 

 

The magic of the song had started to work. Stiles could feel it. He looked around himself and saw that all of the cylinders were filled with bodies. Scratch that. Those were not bodies. They were living specimens. Monsters the doctors had created. 

 

The water because it couldn’t be formaldehyde (could it?) was not exactly clear. Stiles couldn’t tell who or what was in the cylinders. Stiles only knew that they were humanoid. It didn’t matter because the glass of the cylinders cracked. The things in the cylinders started pushing at the glass. The glass broke and the humanoids stepped down from the platforms and into the mess.

 

Stiles didn’t get to see what happened next because Stiles was distracted yet again. There was a pop like a truck backfiring except in a grand scale. Stiles’ attention was drawn to the Japanese Rune on the wall. 

Stiles knew that Rune. It was a binding Rune. It ensured the corporal lying dead behind that wall would stay there. Dead.

 

Stiles’ eyes grew as he watched the wall. The crack started from the bottom of the floor to the top of the ceiling. Stiles was sure it reached the top of the building. More importantly, the Rune was cracked. Stiles’ heart started to beat faster than normal.

 

“Heartbeat is elevated.” said the metallic voice of the surgeon. 

 

Amid the chaos and cacophony of the chanting, Stiles heard a lone voice. He immediately placed it as Meredith’s.

 

“What is bigger the more you take away”? 

 

“A hole,” Stiles answered quietly staring at the cracked wall as it crumbled. The noise around him rose to a crescendo as the building itself around him seemed to settle.

Meredith’s voice asked another question: “What gets wetter the more it dries?”

 

“A towel,” Stiles answered yet again just as quietly. He didn’t think anyone heard him. 

 

“When is a door not a door?” Meredith asked and it seemed that the chanting had stopped. Hers was the only voice and sound in the room.

 

“When it's ajar,” Stiles answered with a quiet whisper. A shadow slipped out of the crumbled wall. The body of Corporal Rhys rose from the debris smiling its silver flash of a smile. It was all pointed teeth meeting pointed teeth.

 

The time-worn army issue jacket, pants, and shoes were coming undone at the seams. The bandages, once white, were now a brown rust color. 

Through too many teeth and a voice that hadn’t been used in years, the Nogitsune asked the final riddle: “Everyone has it, but no one can lose it... What is it?” He tipped his head to the side as he made his way towards Stiles.

 

Stiles looked behind him and how the heck did he not realize the people were all gone? Even the dread doctors were gone. Meredith was by the door when she caught Stiles staring at her though she turned tail and ran.

 

They were alone. 

Stiles turned back to the Nogitsune and said: “A shadow.”


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This be the end, y'all. In which things escalate in unexpected ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I was a better writer this would be a better story. Thank you all of you that stuck by this fic until the end.

Corporal Rhys tilted his head to the left then back to the right. It was wrapped in dirty gauze that was once white making the corporal’s face non-existent. Silver teeth broke out where a mouth was supposed to be located on the face.

The corporal walked over to the entrance of the surgery. He stepped out into the hallway. He looked left. Then he looked right. His gaze sweeping through the room seeming to take in everything. 

He took one step back into the surgery from the hole that was his grave and dramatically twirled around in an about face to face Stiles again. 

Stiles didn’t know when he’d started to think of the place as a surgery but that’s what the room was. 

Corporal Rhys’ jacket sleeves sunk down on his arms. The corporal looked from one to the other and tore them off his arms. His leather jacket was now a ratty vest. 

It was definitely not an improvement. 

Then from one blink to the next, the corporal was by Stiles’ side. He leaned in close into Stiles’ personal space until their foreheads touched. 

“Hello Stiles,” The corporal said elongating the ‘Ls’in Hello and the ‘I’ in Stiles’ name. He blatantly scent marked Stiles rubbing his cheeks along Stiles’ and moving to his neck. The man smelled old and like rot. Stiles didn’t hesitate to scent mark the corporal right back. Stiles didn’t even think about it. As human Stiles was more wolf than Scott McCall would or could ever hope.

“Ugh! Rhys! You’re such a dramatical asshole,” Stiles said with a wicked grin. “Please untie me, Bruv,” Stiles said with a pleading whine. 

“Patience Little Brother,” Corporal Rhys said in Japanese. “I’ve not seen you in a few lifetimes now.”

“A thousand-year-old demon such as yourself is the only being that can exude your kind of patience Brother,” Stiles said as he wiggled his legs and arms impatiently. Stiles knew he was acting like an entitled brat. This he knew as he stared at one of the most powerful beings Stiles had ever encountered. Yet Stiles smirked as he watched the corporal’s face. Even with all the bandages around the demon’s head, Stiles could tell the corporal was rolling his eyes.

The corporal made an O with his hands and opened them. The straps binding Stiles came loose. Then he swept his hand over Stiles’ body. Stiles felt a slight tingle and a rush of power swell in his center. When he lifted the blanket off himself Stiles saw only creamy white pale, mole dotted skin. His pale white skin was a curse on the beach and Stiles had to always wear sunscreen but it was his skin. He liked it when it wasn’t marred with scars or paint or weird runes.

It was clear of everything but the moles with which he was born. There was no more weird scarring that his mother gave him and it was free of any other scars he’d picked up on the way through his adventures in time travel.

Stiles sighed in relief. Then he threw himself at the corporal. The first time the Chaos Demon known as a Nogitsune had possessed Stiles the Oni had killed people while Stiles watched helpless to stop it. 

The Nogitsune had set out to complete the death and destruction for which the demon was summoned. 

Noshiko Yukimura had wanted everyone dead. Everyone. That included her family Agreeable as usual the Nogitsune had started with the woman’s family. Corporal Rhys memories had made them enemy number one in the Nogitsune’s eyes. It made a weird kind of sense that they were to die first. Then the Oni would go after the rest of those deemed as enemies.

All the destruction was caused while Noshiko Yukimura had pushed her face in the sand. It was only after the Oni had almost decimated the internment camp that Noshiko had tried to stop the Oni.

Noshiko had trapped the Oni for sixty years until Stiles had left the door to Stiles’ mind open and the Oni had taken the most powerful person in order to wreak the most havoc. The Oni had succeeded. 

Stiles had been trapped in his own mind with no way to escape and no way to stop the death and destruction. His friends had finally exorcized the thousand-year-old demon and freed Stiles but not before Stiles had seen real evil.

Stiles had lost so much that first time and yet gained so much from the experience. A new body with no scars. A new fluency of all kinds of languages. Before the possession, he’d already known how to read and write Polish and Russian and was well on his way to reading Archaic Latin but after the possession, it was as if the Oni had imparted his knowledge. 

This was a known side effect of a Nogitsune possession. 

 

The best part was Stiles knew how to use spells. The most important of which was to not have nightmares or anxiety. Another was to gain focus. Those were just the start of Stiles way to become a true mage. He even made sure his dad was safe. 

The second time the Nogitsune had possessed Stiles the Oni had been haunting a school. It had caused the death of one student. Stiles had eagerly accepted the Oni that time thinking he could defeat the Oni. The third time Stiles had made a deal with the Oni. They went to a war torn country where the Oni could wreak its havoc.

The fourth time the Oni had reached out to Stiles while Stiles was still in the womb and had copied Stiles exactly right down to Stiles’ fingertips. By the time they were one they were Pack.

There were timelines when Stiles didn’t encounter the Oni but when Stiles did Stiles would accept the Oni into his mind. Sometimes they wreaked havoc and sometimes they didn’t. 

Stiles had learned so much and now it was all back. It was exhilarating. 

The whole time Stiles was reminiscing the Nogitsune had shamelessly scent marked him to make sure Stiles had the fox's scent. The Oni no longer smelled like death. He just smelled like maple syrup, home, and Pack. 

Stiles lifted his head off the Oni’s shoulder and put his hands on where he thought the Oni’s cheeks might be.

“Make with the face change Corporal,” Stiles commanded in Japanese smiling like a loon as he leaned back to try and sit on the surgical bed. The Oni set him down on it. It squeaked and the air in the slim mattress hissed out slowly as Stiles’ weight sunk into it.

“Stiles,” Void Corporal Rhys said through his silver teeth. “This is the face,” he said motioning to his whole body in false indignation. 

“Gods! Inari. I’ve missed you,” Stiles said sincerely. He threw his arms around the Oni’s neck and pulled him to his forehead. They stared at each other for few beats. 

“I’ve missed you, too, Little Red,” Inari said just as sincerely. Then in a perfect imitation of Doc, he said: “Let’s make like a tree and get the fuck out of here!” 

With a snap of his fingers, the Oni transported them outside. They were facing away from the crumbling building that was Eichen House as it gave its final scream of death. There were fireflies all around them keeping them company.

 

∞

 

Stiles was looking at a lake that was suddenly just there in front of Eichen House. That was Stiles’ first hint that they were no longer on earth or in earth’s dimension.

It felt wrong. This place. It wasn’t the same and yet it was somehow the same. It was still Eichen House. It was still Beacon Hills. But it wasn’t. It was like the upside down place from ‘Stranger Things”. 

Stiles couldn't pinpoint why he thought it was different. It didn’t look different. Not like in ‘Stranger Things’ but it was a little bit different. Stiles didn’t know why he felt out of place or what it was about THIS place that was different from where he was just a few minutes ago.

There was a pregnant silence that was broken by screams only a few minutes after the collapse of the old building. Valack yelled at Deaton as did Gerard and Kate. Each of them disappointed and angry. Stiles couldn’t really hear them because they were far away and the building was still screaming its death angrily. 

It was weird to listen to a place die. A place like Eichen was meant to be forever and the evil housed there would last as long. That’s probably what Stiles was feeling. He didn’t know. It was frustrating. 

Stiles wanted to know. He got distracted by the Oni walking slowly towards the lake. Stiles was not afraid. He was not. Stiles is Pack. He didn't feel afraid. There was no need. The Oni would never hurt Stiles. 

It felt like deja vu. In some ways it was. Yet. In many ways, it wasn't. Stiles met the Nogitsune over so many lifetimes. Stiles had no recollection of ever being in THIS place.

Stiles looked into his mind and he could feel the memories. They were flooding into his brain like a sieve had been opened. They flashed through Stiles' mind. The sensation of deja vu returned but it was not of this place. The memories were of meeting the Oni, the fox spirit of chaos, many times over. This unlocked many other memories. 

'You must be Stiles,' Stiles heard those words like an echo. Peter Hale's' voice reached him through that echo and it was like an ache in Stiles' heart and it flowed right to his stomach.

A feeling of dread settled itself in Stiles. Stiles knew instinctively that wherever this place was Stiles would never be able to go home again. Maybe this was better. All his mistakes would be erased. 

There was no time to think about it because the place that was Eichen House was finally destroyed. The line between this place and what Stiles thought of as ‘his home’ was a thin layer that Stiles could almost see.

“”I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore’,” Stiles mumbled. He heard the Oni chuckle. He looked up at the fox demon and put his hand up so they could clasp their fingers together. 

When Stiles looked back at the lake that wasn’t supposed to be there Stiles saw something else that wasn’t supposed to be there. 

There was a creature sitting calmly next to the lake. The whole scene was beautiful in its oddness. There were two suns and right next to the two suns were two pale moons. The atmosphere was breathable and strangely enough despite the two suns, the air was room temperature. 

Stiles was somehow back in the Oni’s arms. Stiles struggled out of the hold the Nogitsune had on him. The Oni must have picked up Stiles and had been walking with him towards the creature.

Of course, Stiles was scared but he was more curious than anything else. The more he fidgeted the more tightly the Oni held onto Stiles. Stiles tapped him on the back in a comforting gesture.

The Oni sighed and Stiles was placed gently on the floor as the creature by the lake waited.

Then the Oni made a series of complicated hand gestures. His face was smiling as usual with The Creepy Pointy Teeth™.

“Let’s go meet Cthulhu,” The Oni said with a smirk. 

 

∞

Stiles was aware that he might be dreaming or possibly dead. This world was so ridiculous that Stiles is quite sure, maybe, that he was definitely (maybe) at least dreaming. 

He stood his ground as he stared back at the rubble that was once Eichen House. Stiles concentrated on his Spark and called it forth. Stiles needed to ensure his Pack was safe before the veil and himself disappeared in this odd place. As long as Stiles lived his Spark would protect his Pack. 

This was all Stiles cared about: his family would be safe. Then he could go with the Nogitsune and ensure the real monsters Deaton, Gerard, Kate, Valeck and the rest of the people that came through when Eichen fell were all dead.

 

∞

Stiles and his brother the Chaos Demon met with Cthulhu and received the entities blessing to deal with the new threats. 

It took them years to chase down each and every threat but they were successful. They saved Deaton for last and brought the Druid back to Cthulhu. The entity tore apart the Druid as Stiles and the Oni watched. 

Stiles didn’t expect Cthulhu to acknowledge them. Stiles and the Oni went after the monsters because it was the right thing to do. With the last monster finally dealt with Stiles could relax.

Stiles rather like this place and he did not want to return home. It would be too painful to see that his Pack had moved on without him. Then as Stiles turned to Cthulhu the entity slipped into his lake with a chuckle. It was exactly as Stiles expected. 

Stiles and his brother, the thousand-year-old Chaos demon watched as the last of Cthulhu disappeared into the seemingly bottomless lake. The entity chuckled a final time before Stiles turned to his brother. Then Stiles blinked once. Then he kept his tired eyes closed. 

This was where there was nothing but darkness to greet him.

Stiles sat down without opening his eyes. He felt Rhys change into his fox form and lay down behind Stiles. The fur was really soft and warm. Stiles got comfortable and lay his head on the Oni’s back. He would be able to sleep knowing he’d be safe.

Stiles didn’t know what the next day would bring. It didn’t matter because as long as he lived Stiles knew his family was safe and that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deaton used the wrong chant to 'summon' Cthulhu and instead of opening the doorway to Cthulhu to come into Stiles' dimension Deaton managed to slip the whole of Eichen House into Cthulhu's dimension. A football field wide in each direction of Eichen was brought over to Cthulhu's dimension. 
> 
> Stiles understands that he's stuck there. Everyone who was in Eichen House during the ritual is stuck there including the Dread doctors, all their experiments, the supernatural creatures kept at Eichen House. 
> 
> Stiles is stuck there so when the Nogitsune asks Cthulhu if they can hunt on his land Stiles is included in this plan.
> 
> It takes years for Stiles and the Nogitsune to kill all the monsters but they get it done. 
> 
> Afterward, Stiles falls asleep with the Nogitsune at the side of Cthulhu's lake.

**Author's Note:**

> "no bueno" means not good


End file.
